


The House With the Red Front Door

by Autumn_Ignited, SailUnchartedWaters (GlassAlice)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Body Horror, CW: Eating Disorders, CW: Suicide, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Completely bs'd ghost physics, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Keith (Voltron), Gore, Haunted Houses, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I mean it's a house full of like fifty ghosts, It's horror yeah but we really wanted to relive the 90s and make ghosts have sex, Keithtober, Keithtober 2019, Klancetober 2019, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Mental Link, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Burn, So it's a romance more than anything we swear, They all had to die somehow, Writing on Skin, cw: EDNOS, ghost dick, gratuitous 90s nostalgia, keith is a ghost, klance, look this is horror so please be safe reading this, spoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 117,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Ignited/pseuds/Autumn_Ignited, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassAlice/pseuds/SailUnchartedWaters
Summary: Lance has his own problems: college, finals, trying to stay fit, but they’renormalproblems. That all changes when he visits the Red House. A simple mocumentary about the house’s dark past as a final project for film class is totally upended when the house turns out to be haunted – like, for real. Add to that the strange words starting to appear on Lance's arms, claiming to be from some ghost named Keith, he’s ready to run from the Red House and never look back. There’s only one problem. Something dark was unleashed the day Keith died, and now it’s taking over Lance.Being with Keith helps, but he can’t hold out forever.And he’s so, so hungry.Complete





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We have a couple of content warnings:  
Lance struggles with an eating disorder and there are plenty of descriptions of dieting and body dysmorphia. There’s also talk of suicide, bullying, and abuse. 
> 
> Also: In our collaborations, Sail writes Lance and I write Keith, so there are occasions where the POV may shift. We’ve done our best to smooth these over and keep things zoomed out enough that you can tell what’s happening, but if you hit a POV speedbump, that would be why. Our bad; we’re still getting used to it!

“Well the point is, _Lance_, you won’t _need_ to use these dumb effects if the house is really as haunted as they say it is.” Pidge was furiously unrolling wire as they spoke, dragging the extension cord on its spool from the generator to the little card table they’d set up in the foyer. They’d been planning this first outing for their school project all week and this dusty excuse for an entrance was now “central command,” as Pidge had named it, and very heavily insisted Lance and Hunk follow suit. They’d already unpacked two monitors and more equipment than Lance had thought possible to cram into Hunk’s shitty van. 

He resisted the urge to scoff, having learned that lesson the last time he’d insulted the validity of Pidge’s “methods.” Still had the bump to prove it. 

“Look,” he began, “all I’m saying is, we want a good grade and no one wants to watch an hour and a half of static camera hoping to hear a couple of thumps. We’re going for _realism_” - a harsh glare from Pidge - “_and_ entertainment! They gotta go hand in hand!” 

“Well I, for one, think it’s plenty creepy on its own.” Hunk set down the massive hard case holding his boom mic and camera. “Don’t think you’re going to have to do much to mess with it, dude.” 

Lance hummed in agreement as he glanced around the foyer from his directorial folding chair - supervising, after all, was part of his job. He watched them both as they continued to unpack and plug in, but his attention was drawn to the long hallway he could see from his chair. 

Hunk wasn’t wrong - this place was creepy as hell. In its heyday, the manor had probably been very nice, but there was little left to indicate any former splendor. It wasn’t a new house by any means, having been built sometime in 18yaddayadda and renovated in the 30s and then again in the 70s and then _again_-again for new appliances sometime after that. Even if the furniture and everything looked modern, the house itself was straight out of, like, _Gone With the Wind._ But less grandiose. And that made it super fucking creepy when it started to decay. 

Sure, it was technically “condemned” and they were technically “trespassing” but like - what was art if you didn’t take risks, right? Where was the reward? 

Anyway.

Theoretically there would be, like, at least fifty ghosts or something in a house this old, because that’s what old houses did, right? Collect ghosts? That is, if there was such a thing as ghosts in the first place. They were going for a specific story, though - gunning for the heartstrings by “contacting” one in particular, but hey, it would totally heighten the tension if he could make it seem like they were having multiple encounters. The staircase could be useful; looked like there was a second floor landing where he could drop a - 

“Think you might consider maybe helping us plug shit in now?” Pidge’s cross voice interrupted his special effects planning. Lance narrowed his eyes at them. 

“Hello, I’m directing. _That_ is my job. I’m just scouting the best locations right now.” 

“Okay well - they aren’t going anywhere, they haven’t gone anywhere since the 1800s, and we only have so long on the generator. So, chop chop.” Pidge clapped their hands.

Lance grumbled, sending Pidge a glare as he got up. After that, he did his best to show Pidge just how much of a burden it was to help Hunk carry in the rest of their stuff. 

It took another 20 minutes or so after hauling to get all of Pidge’s junk set up, after which they displayed the central monitor to Lance and Hunk with a flourish. “It’s split into four different camera feeds from the four mounted cameras.” They pointed to each section in turn. Lance squinted at the black and white feed. “These are the biggest paranormal hotspots: the kitchen, the main staircase, and two upper floor bedrooms.” At Lance’s doubting look they amended, “At least I think they are.” That left the third floor and the basement uncovered, but they could get those with handheld cameras. It would probably look cooler doing it like that anyway. 

“Okay, so we’ve got DVR feed from these four rooms. Hunk has the actual production camera. I’ve got an EMF and a K2. Lance, you need to practice or anything?”

“Pidge,” Lance said indulgently. “The point of this whole project is to be as realistic as possible. Practice would ruin everything. Hunk? Bro, you ready?”

“Almost.” Hunk reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a Ziplock bag full of shortbread cookies with little flowers pressed into each one. “Good luck cookie. Everybody take one.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Pidge said eloquently as they helped themselves to three. Hunk grinned and shook the baggie at Lance. 

Lance eyed it. This would be the sixth red food of the day. He snuck a peek at Hunk and reluctantly took the smallest cookie in the bag. It was his fault for going over his red foods, not Hunk’s, so chewed on his good luck cookie obediently. Besides, maybe there was something to it, and he didn’t want to jinx their first shoot. 

Pidge went back for another and Hunk took one for himself. Lance pulled out his phone and entered one shortbread cookie into his tracking app as they snacked. 

“Which one is it this time?” Pidge asked around a mouthful of crumbs.

“Which one what?” Lance was busy swiping through his stats for the day. This was the most reds he’d eaten since he’d started the program. 

Pidge gestured to his phone. “Diet. I hope you’re not back on that fruit bat one. You were sick with the shits for a month.”

“Wow, okay, Pidge.” Hunk put a hand on their head as if it had a stop button on top of it. “Not while we’re enjoying cookies.”

“It’s not like that.” Lance waved them off. “This one is focused on nutrition and has an official app. It’s not an Instagram diet. I’m done with those.”

“Sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance looked up from his phone so he could glare at Pidge.

Hunk stepped between them. “We gotta film. Fight about food later.”

Lance and Pidge settled down for the most part, but Pidge still threw annoyed glances now and then. Still, they all managed to take their places and begin their filming without anyone drawing blood. In Lance’s eyes, that was a win when dealing with focused-on-ghosthunting-Pidge.

“Alright, man. Rolling in three...two...one…” Hunk turned the camera on Lance, who straightened in its light. He gestured behind himself. 

“Paxton Manor: also known as ‘the Red House’ because of the bright red front door, so different from the rest of its exterior, but _also_-” Lance lowered his voice, eyes flashing, “for its long history of tragic, often unexplained, deaths.” 

There was a sound to his left - something like a scoff. Lance turned his head and wrinkled his nose at Pidge. “Dude. You threw off my groove.”

Pidge spluttered. “Me?! I didn’t say anything!”

“You coughed!”

“I did not!”

“I heard it!”

Pidge’s eyes lit up. “What did you hear?” they asked excitedly, holding some beepy box thing up to Lance’s head. 

“Nothing,” Lance mumbled and jerked away. “Hunk, take two.” 

Hunk clapped his hands. “Red House, take two. Go.”

Lance slipped into his professional voice, “The Red House, Paxton Manor, it goes by many names, but did you know--”

_Crash._

Lance jumped and screamed, hand over his heart. “Pidge!”

“Okay, my fault that time.” They righted a tripod that, thankfully, didn’t have a camera on it. 

Dust floated from the crash and Lance sneezed. Again. And again. Everyone paused, waiting for him to finish the attack. 

“Oh my god. Okay fine. Take _three_.” Lance took a tissue from Hunk and wiped his nose. “God, I hate dust.” Stuffing the tissue in his pocket he nodded.

Hunk returned it and gave him a thumbs up. “Red House, take three. Go!”

“Paxton Manor. Known locally and in legend simply as ‘The Red House,’ not only for its distinct front door, but for the long history of pain and bloodshed these walls have seen. The house itself was built on the grounds of not one but _two_ bloody battles, leading some people to believe the spirits responsible for the activity over the years are those of tormented soldiers, or perhaps…”

And so on. Lance moved animatedly from one room to the other as he narrated, and only restarted once when his foot hit a floorboard that creaked so loud it drowned him out. When he reached the dining room, he looked over his shoulder at the camera.

“And now, for the first time ever, we bring you a raw and unedited look into the darkness of the Red House - from right here, inside.” Lance held his pose as he waited for Hunk’s cue.

After two breaths Hunk nodded. “Cut.” He pressed the record button to stop and scrolled through the files. “Good take, I think we got it. We can probably use B roll to link the part where we had to stop because your foot’s too heavy.”

“Ha ha.” Lance walked over to Hunk to see how the lighting turned out. 

“Speaking of B roll,” Pidge said, holding up camcorders. “We need some. Everyone grab a camera and we’ll split up.”

“I need to get some extra room noise, just in case, so try to be quite guys,” Hunk said, checking his zoom.

“Alright. Dibs on the basement!” Pidge took off for the bottom floor, as if anyone was going to fight them for that dubious honor. 

“Be careful!” Hunk yelled after them, but the door slammed a few seconds later. “Ah well. Guess I’ll take - I dunno, that study by the sitting room?” 

Lance nodded. “I’m going to one of the bedrooms. Bet I can make up something about trying to connect with whoever in their space, y’know?” 

Hunk chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t get haunted.” 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

\--

There were three of them this time: a big one, a small one, and a long one. They brought more equipment than most. Lately it had just been dumb kids with flashlights, but these guys were prepared.

Keith followed the small one first. They’d gone down into the cellar, because of fucking course one of them would. They sat down near the old well with a bunch of shit that beeped and lit up. He’d never liked being near the well, even when he’d lived in the house. It just felt...wrong.

The small one explained aloud that he - well, anyone - could communicate through the box. All he had to do was approach it and it would light up. They were so eager, he decided the most fun would be leaving them alone to get pissed talking to an empty room. 

He almost didn’t have the heart to mess with the big one. The guy seemed genuinely unnerved, humming to himself and bouncing his leg. 

“Ooookay,” he said, still bouncing, “If you’re there...that’s cool. That’s super cool. Just...keep doing your thing, yeah? Don’t mind me. I’m just, you know, hanging out. Not here to mess up your space or anything.” 

Keith snorted to himself. Yeah, messing with this one would feel like kicking a puppy. 

Moving on, he floated upstairs, phasing through the walls on the left and then the right of the hallway until he found the long one. 

Lance balanced the camera on an old dresser and stepped back to check his angle. "Be sure to get my good side," he winked at the camera, throwing finger guns. He clapped for sound sync, careful of the trigger-wire in his hand. It was set to pull a stray book from the shelf, which should give him a good off-camera bang. 

"Oh, ghosts of Red House, if you can hear me, show me a sign." He threw out his hands and looked up at the ceiling. 

From beside him on the bed, Keith crossed his arms and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, he’d heard the house called that a lot even when he was alive, but it was a stupid name then and it was a stupid name now. Besides the door, nothing else on the house was even red. It was brown. 

So, from what he’d gathered, these jokers weren’t just ghost hunting - they were making some kind of movie. This one, loud and long, was clearly suited to be on camera. He was dramatic as hell and handsome. Knew he was handsome, too - the worst kind of camera hog. Still, from the wire he’d tied to a book on the old bookshelf across the way, it seemed like he didn’t actually expect anything to happen outside of whatever he rigged up. The small one believed for sure. The big one looked like he’d rather not believe, but would roll with whatever happened. This asshole, though. This one he could play with. 

“Surely,” the long one said in a tone probably intended to be sincere, but which came off as sarcastic, “you have things you wish to say? We can communicate your messages from the beyond to the world of the living!” 

Oh brother. Keith rolled his eyes. “Gag me.” 

“What’s that, spirits?” Lance leaned into the camera with a hand on his cheek like he was about to share a secret. “I think I hear something,” he hissed. 

Keith saw his hand twitch, ready to pull the book. Instead, with a smug little smirk, Keith casually pushed over the lamp on the bedside table. It landed with a nice, resounding crash. 

Lance jumped, head snapping toward the noise. Just a lamp. "Fucking baby Jesus on a cracker." He held a hand over his heart, willing it to calm down. Looking down at the string, betrayal written across his face, he sighed. “Stupid,” he told the broken lamp. He took a breath. "Don't let the dumb old house get to you. It's old and things are going to break." 

That's right. The bed stand was falling apart and the floor was totally slanted. He probably bumped it when he was setting up and that moved it just enough to make it fall. That was all. 

When he’d calmed down enough, his mind saw the whole thing from the camera’s perspective. Grinning, he whispered to himself, “Perfect.” This was going to look _so_ good in the final edit. He wouldn't even have to lie about special effects. 

Lance turned back to the camera. "What's your name?" Pidge’d drilled all the house’s ghost legends into his head. "If you're Winnifred Evans, show me a sign. Evans, died in childbirth in, uh,” he paused. “The...past. You can knock something else over." He waited a moment until it was dramatic enough, then tugged. 

From beside the bookshelf, Keith placed his hand on the book, keeping it firmly in place. 

Lance tugged harder, trying to keep his expression neutral on camera. Nothing. 

“Uh, okay...are you…” he consulted his mental list again to stall for time. All the while, he kept pulling the string. “Zacariah Smith? Notorious alcoholic, brother to the original Mrs. Paxton? Died from alcohol poisoning in 1842?” 

It was strange. He could see the book jiggling, and it didn’t look like anything was barring it from falling. Well, maybe he could use the crash and write the rest off as the house “warming up.” There’d be time. They had months to put this thing together before finals. 

“One last guess.” Because why not. “Are you...Keith Kogane? Died age 19, 1998?”

From beside the bookshelf, Keith startled. He stopped exerting the energy to hold the book in place, and when Lance tugged, it fell through his hand and thudded heavily on the wooden floor. 

_Dumb string_. Luckily, because it’d taken so long for his little trap to go off, his reaction was genuine. 

“Okay,” he drawled. “Who’s your favorite Power Ranger?” Lance laughed at his own joke and looked directly into the camera. “That’s one for the blooper reel, Hunk. For real this time.”

He faced the book shelf outside of the shot. “Do you know how you died?”

Keith - well - flickered. He never knew what else to call it. It was like actually becoming static, awareness coming in and out like a fritzing wire. He was dead, he knew he’d died, but it wasn’t often a living being said something about it. That made it hurtful and confusing all over again. 

“Fuck you,” he said, knowing this dude wouldn’t hear it, but so very much wishing he could. “How about you get your scrawny ass out of my house?!”

“Anything? C’mon, was it violent? You were only 19 so did someone kill you or did you kill yourself?” Lance waited for a reaction that wouldn’t come. Once enough time had passed, he added to himself, “Did you get mad you missed the Baywatch finale and had to snuff it?” 

“Fuck. You!” It was the angriest Keith had been in, well, since...whatever point of origin he could remember. He lunged forward, without thinking, and tried to grip the boy’s arm, to haul him up, get him right where he could punch that snide fucking face - 

He felt his hand heat up. 

What in the actual fuck. When was the last time he’d felt heat?

He let go of the boy and stumbled back. 

Lance wrenched his arm back with a cry. It’d felt stuck in space for a split second, as if his arm had stopped working. The skin around his biceps burned. He pulled his sleeve up to blow on it, but the skin was smooth and clear. No scratches or burns or bruising. The pain faded almost as instantly as it had hit him, but the memory of the pain was sharp. 

He was still looking at his arm as he left the room. What the fuck was that? Maybe he was allergic to something or had a muscle spasm. Either way, Hunk would help. He slammed the door to the stupid room. “Hunk, buddy? Where you at?”

“Down here! In the study off the sitting room!” Hunk called from below. 

“There’s like fourteen sitting rooms!”

“The green one!”

“The green one…” Lance mumbled, rolling his eyes. He made his way downstairs to where Hunk was splayed out in one of the dusty old chaise lounges, camera beside him, playing on his phone. 

Hunk looked up when Lance came tromping in and held up a hand in greeting. “What’s up, buddy? Get bored?”

"I think something happened. Not like, a supernatural thing." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Pidge wasn't in ear shot. The last thing he needed was Pidge deciding they needed to camp in that room. "But, my shoulder really hurts, er, hurt, past tense. Got anything? I think it's the muscle.”

“Yeah, I think I have Tylenol in my bag.” Hunk glanced at the arm Lance was favoring and his eyes got wide. “ Did you really have to take it that far? That’s...not cool, man.” 

"What?" Lance craned his neck to try and see what Hunk was looking at but didn't see anything. His arm was fine and there was nothing behind him. What the hell? "If you're trying to scare me it won't work." 

Keith took a moment to collect himself before phasing down into the study where the boy had gone to find his friend. He was shaken, for sure, but maybe that was just what happened? He hadn’t tried to touch anyone in a long time - honestly maybe never, he couldn’t really remember. Could be this was just the norm. While the big one - Hunk - was pushing back the boy’s sleeve, Keith bent over them both to look. Experimentally, almost hesitantly, he brushed his fingers along the boy’s brown skin. He felt a prickle of _something_, but it didn’t burn like before. 

“How did you even do this?” Hunk demanded. 

“Do wh-oh.”

Raised welts formed, angry and red and very distinct. 

_**FUCK YOU,**_ his arm said. 

“I uh.” Okay, that was definitely weird. It didn’t compute. Lance’s arm felt like it belonged to someone else, unattached and foreign. “I didn’t do that. I-I-” Something wrote on his arm. Something _evil_. All the horror movies he'd ever seen rose to the surface and he watched himself die in each one. The world blurred as nausea bent him over. He gagged but held down his cookie. Blackness creeped around the edges of his vision and he felt like he stood up too fast and fell down a fun-fair ride at the same time. “I need to sit down,” was the only warning before he dropped to the floor, hard.

“Lance!” 

Keith reared back and looked at the boy, Lance, sprawled on the floor. He felt guilty. Scared. How had he done that? It had to be him. Like, clearly nothing _else_ had seared expletives on this guy’s arm, but had he caused the fainting, too? It struck him after all this time that he didn’t really know the full extent of what he was capable of - and that scared the shit out of him. He knelt down next to Hunk who was placing his hands all over Lance’s face, probably trying to get a read on his temperature. 

“Sorry,” Keith said to, evidently, no one. 

“Uhg,” Lance groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Hunk said, taking Lance’s hand in his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You fell and hit your head pretty hard there. What gives? You feeling okay?” 

“M’fine.” He crinkled his nose. “Not fine. What the hell was that? Is this some kind of prank you ‘n Pidge put together, because I swear if it is--”

As if summoned, the door to the basement slammed shut from the hallway and Pidge stomped in, muttering while looking at the device in their hands before nearly colliding with them both on the floor. 

“Lance, Hunk,” they said by way of greeting. “You are on the floor.” 

“No way. How did we get here?” Lance held out his other hand and Hunk brought them both to standing. He was still light headed, but ignored it. “Find anything good?” 

Pidge scoffed and threw up their hands. “The one thing I heard was a thump, and it turns out it’s you two messing around. Are we done filming this bit? I want to break out the heavy stuff.”

Hunk side-eyed Lance cautiously. “Uh...I dunno, I’m thinking maybe we call it a day? You know, just...shoot some exterior before we lose the light and then come back tomorrow?”

“We have more time tomorrow too. Plus, maybe the ghosts aren’t active today. Hunk didn’t get anything either and I--” Oh shit, the camera was still upstairs. “Uh, didn’t…one sec, I’ll be right back.” _The camera_. Maybe it picked something up. Pidge was always going on about how electronics and ghosts operated around the same level. He sprinted out and took the stairs two at a time.

Keith followed him, brow furrowed. Going between the levels usually wasn’t this exhausting, so whatever thing he’d done earlier took a lot out of him. He was sitting on the bed by the time Lance made it to the room. For all the good it was going to do, he shouldn’t have bothered, but he just… felt kinda bad. Lance was definitely being a dick at the time, but he didn’t mean to _burn_ him for it. Literally. 

“Look, man,” Keith said, crossing his arms and laying back against the headrest. It was stupid, except for clearing his own conscience. Lance had felt him, but no one could hear him. Same as usual. “I’m sorry about your arm. I didn’t even know I could do that. Maybe don’t go around being uncool about people’s deaths, though. Kinda rude.” 

Lance found the camera right where he’d left it. It'd automatically shut off and was taking forever to boot up. He wanted to leave the room ASAP, but he also didn't want anyone to know what had happened before he did. He scrolled through the menu, trying to find the right clip. There, the lamp. 

Pressing play, he listened to himself joke around and blather on. Blah, blah, blah, crash. Okay, nothing weird, just a normal lamp falling. He scrubbed forward to about when he started tugging on the wire. 

It was right when he started talking to Keith, the dead kid. That’s when shit got weird. Even though he didn’t see anything, besides himself crying out when his arm burned, Lance did catch a quick snippet of sound, buried in the quiet hiss of camera’s white noise. 

He rewound it. Listened again. 

And again. 

A coincidence. Something Hunk was saying downstairs. Just a creaky floorboard. 

A creaky floorboard that sounded an awful lot like a high-pitched, furious “-ck YOU!” 

Nope, not okay. Without thinking, Lance pulled up the menu and formatted the card. As the progress bar filled, he felt his whole body relax. Now it never happened. The camera dinged to say it was complete and ready to use. 

"Fuck this place." He backed out of the room and shut the door with a click. They could find a better project. Maybe he could talk to Hunk and see if they couldn't team up and convince Pidge to let them change topics. 

He ran downstairs to see his friends in the midst of packing. Glancing upstairs one last time, he turned to help them get the hell out of there. 

\--

Lance made his way into his room and flopped on his bed. He rubbed his shoulder; the mysterious words were replaced once more by Lance’s flawless skin. In his home, in his room, in his bed, that night’s events seemed like a dream. Anyone would’ve been scared if they were alone in a creepy house. It’d been his overactive imagination. 

Lance nodded, pulling out his phone to add his after-shoot-snack in his app. There wasn’t an entry for _Hunk first day good luck cookie_, so he picked a pre-loaded chocolate cookie as a stand in. His calories for the day jumped to more than double yesterday. He wanted to cry. A failure; he was a failure that couldn’t even say no to a cookie. This was all Hunk’s fault. If he hadn’t made these dumb treats and forced Lance to eat them…Lance threw his phone down. There was no point in blaming Hunk; _he_ was the one with no self control. 

Tomorrow. He’d do better tomorrow and take the bus to get some extra walking in. Tonight, he’d do at least three YouTube exercises. That would make up for today. 

Lance turned on his laptop and cued up his workout playlist. As he started the first video, he realized the world felt…_normal_. He was doing his routine as if nothing happened, so, therefore, nothing had. With each video, he convinced himself nothing happened. By the end of the last one, he switched to worrying about the test in English tomorrow.

After logging his exercises, he plugged in his phone and went about his normal night routine. Beauty was patience and Lance had that in droves. He took his time to wash and clean and moisturize every last inch. By the time he slipped his eye mask on, he’d forgotten it altogether and fell asleep to the quiet hum of white noise. 

He dreamed about black walls and locker rooms and the smell of fire.

\--

By the next day, he’d decided to blame the experience and strange dream on an imbalance of nutrients. Lance took out his phone as he sat back from the table. This was meal four out of the six he was allowed and it was only 2 PM. He entered it into his phone: banana - green, oats with milk - red, cheese crackers - red. 

The app broke food into three colors: healthy foods were green, dangerous foods were yellow, and bad foods were red. He was only allowed three reds a day. This meal put him at five. Before, he’d thought oatmeal was healthy; now he had no idea what he could eat that was quick and cheap. 

He searched the app for more ideas to decrease his red intake. Typing in ‘oatmeal’, it gave him a few options. The only option that wasn’t red was plain oats with no milk or sugar and that only got him down to a yellow. Bleh, oats without milk sounded horrible. 

Lance lifted his shirt and sucked in his stomach. The rolls sunk in and his stomach looked flat. Fat fat fat, his mind screamed at him. Ugh, it was disgusting. He pulled his shirt down and pushed his food away.

Technically he was following two diets: the 6 small meals one said he could eat whatever he wanted as long as they were small, and the color diet was for choosing healthier foods. Since all the small meals consisted of food that was less than one portion they worked perfectly together, not to mention the added restrictions he kept a mental list of. He should patent his version and sell it. 

Lance threw the half-eaten box of cheese crackers out and poured the milk down the drain. Thank the stars for the color diet; he had no idea he was eating so many bad foods. There were too many red snacks in his campus apartment. He might be a college kid, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t eat healthy. Although...Hunk probably had nothing but red foods planned for their outing tonight. Ugh.

Pulling out his measuring tape, he looped it around his upper arms, waist, thighs and calves, finishing off the ritual with his ankles and wrists. Lance wanted to marry this app for tracking inches. Most apps didn’t have that option and only tracked pounds. He didn’t like weighing himself. Pounds told him nothing; it was inches that were important. They gave him useful information on exactly what he needed to lose and where. He smiled as he typed. His waist was 29 inches. Only two more inches to his goal. 

Lance took a screenshot and decorated it with emojis, then took a selfie and edited the pictures side by side. Some face tuning…and it was ready to go. _The color diet is a miracle!_ he typed for the caption and posted it. Lance watched the post for a while, waiting for likes until his alarm went off, signaling it was time to go to class. Grabbing his backpack, he left, still watching his post and thinking about everything and anything that would distract from the fact that in a few hours he would be back to filming at the Red House where normality was snuffed out like a light.

\--

Time flows differently when you’re dead. 

Though he could see the sun rise and set from the windows and detect changes in the ambient light of the room, “day” and “night” didn’t hold much meaning anymore - therefore there wasn’t much use for keeping track of time. Somewhere, Keith knew, years were marching by, but it was hard to remember what a year even meant.

So it took him by surprise to see the same trio back in a span of light-fading-into-dark that he registered as “soon.” 

He’d been thinking about them; more specifically, he thought about Lance and the burn on his arm. It freaked Keith out possibly more than Lance, because honestly, what the hell, man. Was it an any ghost thing? Was it just him? If so, if he could hurt people, what did that make him? For the most part, he just made circles around the house or hung out in his old room trying to manipulate the radio into working. Not like he bothered anyone or was particularly malicious. Grumpy, maybe, but not mean. 

In a house that saw death more times than any house should, there were bound to be multiple spirits - and that was true. Keith wasn’t alone in Paxton Manor. He could see the others, just as they could see him, but it was like they were all separated by walls of glass, or like they existed on separate planes. They didn’t, possibly couldn’t, interact much outside of staring, and that made him...you know, pretty uncomfortable. Not all of them had died peacefully and it still showed. That wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to spend eternity or whatever gawking at, so he kept to himself. Listened to Pearl Jam. Re-read the same stupid books. He even read the Chemistry textbook that he left open on his desk at the time. 

So, look, what he was getting at is that he didn’t count himself among the kinds of ghosts or spirits or whatever who wanted to harm people. The most he did was play a few tricks on the dipshits who occasionally broke in or tried to smash windows. Dumb teenager dares and stuff like that. He just felt...bad. 

So whether it was guilt or boredom or curiosity driving him, he drifted down to the bottom floor to watch them setting up their equipment, trying to get a look at Lance’s arm.

"Attention, crew. Quiet on set!" Lance held his hands up dramatically. 

"Cut the crap." Pidge shoved passed him. "I brought the spirit box today since you wouldn't let me use it last night. Let's start in the basement." 

"No!" Hunk and Lance said in unison. Hunk had convinced Lance to stay on the project, but he promised that he'd keep Pidge in check. It was nice to have Hunk on his side if he was seeing this through. 

They shared a look, Lance's reminding Hunk to back him up and Hunk's to reassure Lance that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. 

Lance stepped forward. "Why don't we try the sitting room? The one with the big fireplace? It has really good sound and a window for natural light."

"Yeah," Hunk said, nodding. "We can start there and make our way down." 

“Fine,” Pidge sighed and stuffed their trusty K2 and EMF detectors into the oversized pocket of their hoodie. “But while you two are getting story shots or whatever, I want to set up the laser grid in the kitchen.”

Lance was still stuck on “laser grid” when Hunk held his palm up. “Up-bup-bup! Not before we all have our Second Day of Shooting Cookies!” The little tin he pulled out of seemingly nowhere was full of red velvet thumbprint cookies with white chocolate Kisses snuggled in the middle. He shook it enticingly and the cookies rattled. “Eh…? Eh? Look goooddd, c’mon, everybody have one.”

Lance smiled as politely as possible. "How much sugar is in those?" 

"Uh oh." Pidge made a face as they grabbed a fistful of cookies. "Your new nutritional diet not let you have a tiny cookie?" 

"No!" Lance snatched a cookie and took a bite out of it in spite. "See? Plus there's nothing wrong with cutting out sugar. We can't all be Monster addicts and survive to old age. Some of us _care._" 

“Hm,” Hunk said thoughtfully, biting into his own. “Probably not that much sugar if you don’t eat the Kiss.”

Keith peeked curiously into the tin. Food. He remembered food. They looked good. From where he was standing, he could see Lance stuff the rest of his cookie into his back pocket. 

“Okay, whatever, go play Laser Tag with the dead. Hunk and I will do the real work.” Lance smirked at the shade of tomato Pidge’s face turned, but they huffed and walked away. 

“Alright, buddy, tell me when you’re ready to roll.”

They moved to the sitting room and set up the lights. Lance dimmed the LED ring for ambiance and put a filter over it to cool the warm light. 

Hunk fiddled with the tripod. They’d decided to do the story bits with a steady cam and then have handheld shaky cams when they did more of the "ghost hunting.” Hunk looked up and back down, adjusting the ISO. "Let me use your shirt to white balance, hold still." 

Lance stood as still as he could until Hunk nodded. "Ready when you are." 

Lance bounced in place, shaking out his joints and rolling his neck. "Ready. Count me off." 

"Five. Four. Three." Hunk finished the count with his fingers, when he hit one he pointed at Lance. 

“One of the most tragic stories of Paxton Manor is that of Elizabeth Crofton Burrel - but. Most everyone who’s seen her calls her ‘The White Lady of Red House.’” Lance gestured to a painting behind him. Luckily, the last residents - probably that guy Keith’s family - had left most of the sitting rooms intact. “Mrs. Burrel was actually the third wife of Captain Christopher Burrel, whose previous two wives died in childbirth.” He walked backwards to show off another set of pictures near Elizabeth - two daguerrotypes of miserable looking children. He hoped they were her actual kids. “The family relocated here to get away from tragedy...but tragedy has a way of following.”

Keith snorted. Was this guy serious? He glanced up at the picture Lance was talking about and studied it. Yeah, he’d seen this lady once or twice. Not alone, though. She was always with - 

“Elizabeth bore Christopher two children - fraternal twins.”

Yeah, those two. Guess it didn’t go well for them.

“Soon after they were born, though, strange things began to happen.” Lance narrowed his eyes at the camera. 

Keith found himself huffing out a laugh. “You’re a dork,” he said.

“Mrs. Burrel began to see things. Every night, at midnight, she would awaken to see two figures floating above her, white and misty. The ghosts of Christopher’s two deceased wives, jealous of her living children, began to torment her. They would wake her up, scream at all times of day and night, appear around corners, and move her things. Though Christopher never saw anything himself, his wife insisted it was all very real. When the twins died of typhoid just a few months later, Elizabeth was convinced it was supernatural revenge. Maybe if Christopher had believed her, she wouldn’t have been driven insane - or jumped from the belltower to her death.”

Hm. Interesting. Keith filed that away for later for whenever he next saw the strung-out crazy Victorian lady carrying the babies. Maybe he’d at least wave. 

Lance held a moment of silence. "The body was found by neighbors who buried it under these very floorboards." He pointed down and Hunk took the cue to pan down to the floor. 

He zoomed in until the video went blurry. "Cut." 

Hunk righted the camera and held up his hand. "Perfect take on the first try!" 

Lance high fived him and grinned. "There's a reason I'm the star." 

"That last bit though…" Hunk fiddled with the tripod to collapse it. "They aren't really…?" He finished by slicing his throat with his thumb and pointing to the floor. 

"Oh, no." Lance brushed it away. "I made up that last bit. No one knows where they're buried." He checked his notes. "Did you get B roll of the bell tower?" 

"I thought you did, since you're in love with the white lady." Hunk made kissy faces and batted his eyelashes. 

Lance pushed him playfully. "She's cool and tragic." He sighed. "We'll need another day to shoot B roll, there's probably more we forgot." He pulled a pen from his back pocket, covered in cookie crumbs, and circled "bell tower.”

“GUYS!” Pidge’s voice, either terrified or thrilled, made all three of them jump. 

“Jesus Christ!” Keith spat.

“Jesus Christ!” Lance shrieked. 

“GET IN HERE!” 

They all took off for the kitchen, but Keith beat them there by virtue of ignoring things like walls. When they burst through the double doors, Pidge was on the floor and turned to them both with a wide, excited grin.

“Pidge,” Lance gasped. “You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, this is awesome, you gotta _see-_”

“Then _what the actual fuck?!_” Lance threw his pen at Pidge’s head, who ducked without losing their Cheshire smile. “You don’t just scream in the middle of a condemned, old house!”

“Condemned, _haunted_, old house,” Hunk added helpfully. 

“Yeah, yeah, but look -” Pidge pointed across the room to where the laser grid was casting thousands of green dots against the far wall. At the end was the K2 meter. Every so often, the lights on it would dart up - from green to yellow to red.

Hunk nodded at it. “That’s neat, Pidge,” he said right as Lance said, “What is it?”

“Yes, that. Also, what is it.”

“It’s a K2 meter, like I’ve explained about fifty times already.” Pidge gestured to the far wall. “It measures spikes in electromagnetic fields. Theoretically, if something paranormal is present, the idea is that their existence must do something to manipulate and/or channel the surrounding energy, thus causing a sudden fluctuation indicated by the lights.”

Keith hopped up on one of the countertops, legs dangling and red Chucks kicking against the cupboards below. He’d seen others bring these around. Never once had he seen it go off for an actual ghost, so he wasn’t sure what the heck it was actually measuring. 

“Okay, and…?”

“And it’s fluctuating! It’s a random pattern, which means it isn’t being caused by electricity or passing cars or-”

Scoffing, Keith glanced out the window. They were like, at least half a mile back from the road. Fat chance of any cars fucking with the little ghost-hunting Simon board. He shifted, drawing his attention back to the group, when he miscalculated where his hand was landing. An enormous steel soup pot went clattering to the ground with a crash that echoed through the huge room. 

“Uh, shit,” he said, looking up at them. “My bad.” 

All three jumped and screamed, running out of the kitchen. Lance tripped on his way out and scrambled on his hands and knees as best he could. Hunk turned to see Lance crawling at them like _The Grudge_ and kicked at the air to fend him off.

Lance pulled up short before he got a shoe to the face and sat back on his bum. Hunk lowered his leg and they all looked at each other. Lance wasn't sure if he started it, or if they all started at the same time, but their screams dwindled and molded into laughter. There was an edge to it, though, as the terror melted off them. 

Hunk sat down and held his belly as giggles started to cramp his muscles. Lance fell backwards, wiping his eyes. Pidge took off their glasses and cleaned them. 

"I'm going back in,” they announced.

"What? No." Hunk looked up at Pidge like they were crazy. "You were in there, the ghost is angry, it wanted us out." 

"And I, for one, am happy to comply," Lance chimed in. 

Keith jogged after them, forgetting for the moment that he could’ve just, like, zoomed over. He genuinely hadn’t meant to fuck with them this time, and now he felt like an asshole. Especially for the one named Hunk. Scaring him felt like a crime. 

Pidge turned and looked over their shoulder at the two boys camped on the floor. “We’re finally getting evidence! If we don’t stay to film it, we don’t have a project. If we don’t have a project, we fail the class. If we fail the class, our GPAs drop and we all have to get shitty jobs and work through the summer and probably still have to retake it, and even _then-_”

“Okay, okay. Point taken.” Lance frowned. Hunk groaned, but nodded as well. 

“Look.” Pidge sighed and put their hands on their hips. “Just try to shoot some shaky cam footage on your own. Or together, whatever. But try to talk to someone, and we’ll meet back at central command in half an hour. Then we’ll go. Deal?” 

Lance took Hunk’s hand. “Let’s go get that B roll, huh buddy?”

Hunk nodded and squeezed back. 

“Be careful and don’t yell unless you’re actually in danger.” Lance wagged his finger at Pidge.

Pidge waved over their shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Go calm your boyfriend down.” 

Keith blinked and looked between Lance and Hunk. These two? Really? No, that definitely had to be a joke. 

Hunk and Lance watched Pidge disappear back into the kitchen. “They’ll be okay, right?” Lance whispered.

“Yeah, they’ll be fine. Pidge is braver than both of us combined and nothing here can hurt them.” 

“That’s awfully confident of you.” Lance smiled and pulled Hunk up with him as he stood up. “You can hold my hand as long as you want.”

Hunk chuckled and brushed off his jeans. “Awww, thanks, you sure know how to treat a guy.” He looked up at the ceiling, considering. “You took one of the upstairs rooms yesterday, right? Why don’t we pick ones that are back to back? That way, we’re still alone for the footage but not...you know...out of shouting range?” The last part lilted up on a sheepish question.

Keith thought about that. That meant there was a chance one of them was going into his own room, which didn’t thrill him. It was one thing to follow them around to the rooms his family barely touched. It felt to him dead the way it had alive - that parts of the house belonged to the house itself. Despite that, his family managed to carve away certain corners of it to make their own. Of the four bedrooms on the second floor, one was his, one was some kind of storage for old antiques and belongings from previous tenants that they’d never gotten around to throwing out, and the other was...well, it was probably empty now. But it had been his brother’s room. 

It was strange; some days Keith could recall living so vividly, and others, he forgot he was ever alive at all. The idea of having a brother was sometimes foreign, and on other days, he could easily recall the sound of his voice, the smell of his cheap cologne, the weird music he liked, the way the posters on the wall started to curl away from their tape after he deployed and stopped reattaching them. Keith hadn’t gone in that room since - _Keith_ hadn’t even gone in it - and now one of these two was going to just barge in and make himself at home. 

Well. Not if he had any say in it. 

Lance held Hunk’s hand until they reached the bedrooms upstairs. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d deleted all the footage from the day before. Later he’d make up some excuse, like corrupted files, but that was future-Lance’s problem. Now-Lance needed to pick a room because Hunk didn’t want to stick together. 

The doors were mostly the same, though a few of the handles were mismatched. Minus the one he’d been in yesterday and minus the creepy ass bathroom, that left him with not many choices. The closest door was covered in black smudges that looked like stickers were pulled off and the leftover glue had collected grime. Stickers, Lance thought, might make this the safest door, or the door most likely to hold some dead kids asking to play with him. Fifty-fifty, really. 

“Dibs on this one.” He pointed to the sticker-grime door. “Call if you see any ghosts.”

Hunk walked into the bathroom, camcorder already running. “Sure, Lance. Don’t die.”

Lance rolled his eyes. Hunk was his best friend, which meant he also forgot that Hunk was pretty darn professional when he needed to be. Put a camera in his hands and he was all business. So much for the scared Hunk from five minutes ago. 

Lance twisted the knob and the door squeaked open. It was pitch-black. He was pretty sure it should have an outside facing window, but no light was getting in at all. He flicked the flashlight on his phone and held it up. The window was blocked out by paper or something.

He got closer and tore it down.

Even in an abandoned haunted house, the room looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in about 40 years - that is, if the decor didn’t date it so succinctly to be more like 20. The first thing Lance noticed were the two large posters over the bed: the easily recognizable I WANT TO BELIEVE from the_X-Files_ and the black and yellow of Nirvana. The bed was tucked into the corner on the right, and besides those two, there were also plenty of smaller posters covering the entire right wall - Peal Jam, Alice in Chains, Metallica, Korn, Megadeath. There were also pictures clearly cut or ripped from magazines, mostly of skateboarders of some kind but also of various kinds of motorcycles. All of this was accented by a string of Christmas lights now held up mostly by cobwebs. 

On the little table next to the headboard there was a Walkman connected to a set of headphones with the old padded sponges over the speakers. There was also a bottle of lotion, presumably once white, now sort of beige, and a box of tissues - ew. To the left of that table was a desk scattered with all kinds of paper, an open Chemistry textbook from, like, the Jurassic, a bottle of blue hair gel that had long since disintegrated, a few bottles of black nailpolish, and a type of deodorant Lance never even heard of. Besides the disarray of the desk, the room was otherwise pretty neat. The bed was made, red flannel sheets and black quilt tucked under a single pillow, and the floor was free of clutter with the exception of a pair of Vans sort of kicked under the bed. There was a rug on the floor to cover the hardwood - black, because of fucking course, though now it looked mostly gray. To the left was a closet, followed by a dresser against the wall by the door and...that was it. If it didn’t smell musty and was actually clean, it would look like a room that might have belonged to one of his oldest siblings - if, you know, they were edgelords who literally blocked out the sun. 

Lance ran his finger through the dust on the desk and sneezed. Good thing he’d taken his allergy meds or he’d be as dead as the person who’d lived here. Picking through a few of the papers, he looked for anything he could use in the video. Maybe a suicide note or a murder handprint, something, anything that could get them an A. 

The papers were boring, old homework and random doodles. This person really liked to draw that dumb angular S that was like sort of a dollar sign? Clearly they enjoyed doing that more than actually answering their Chemistry homework. One of the papers had a name and date at the top: Keith Kogane 10/14/1998. 

So, this was Keith’s room. Nothing in the reports mentioned he was so emo. 

Lance avoided the lotion and tried to open the drawer, but it was jammed. He pulled harder. Nothing. There wasn’t a lock, so it should open. He tried again but it wouldn’t budge. “Ugh!” He kicked it and the lotion bottle wobbled. Lance stuck out his hand to catch it but ended up knocking it over, followed by some pencils. 

“You okay, Lance?” Hunk’s voice called from the bathroom.

“Yeah, m’fine,” He yelled back, picking things up and putting them back. “Maybe if someone hadn’t broken his drawers I wouldn’t need to kick the desk.” Gross, the lotion. Resigning himself to touching someone else's paraphernalia for backstroke roulette, he picked it up.

“Warm Vanilla Sugar,” he read aloud. “Oh my God, did your dick smell like cookies?”

Keith, having sat down on the bed and dedicating himself to keeping his drawer_ closed_ thank you very much, spluttered. If he had blood, it all would’ve gone to his face. 

“S-SHUT UP!” he yelled. “It was all we had in the bathroom!”

Lance dropped the bottle. 

His arm didn’t hurt, it didn’t even really feel numb - more like the prickling static of sleep. He flipped his arm over to see the words _Shut up._ He traced the letters. They weren’t scratched into him this time. Instead the skin was raised like a rash that didn’t itch.

He blinked. Blinked again. The words were still there.

“This isn’t real, it's not real.” He scrubbed at the words with his hand. He was having some kind of allergic reaction to the dust or- or the lotion got on him and it was so old it turned into acid. “What the fuck is going on?”

Keith was having much the same reaction. He stared at Lance’s arm, and then at Lance, then back down to the words. At least Lance didn’t seem like he was in any pain this time. So, what, he was like...some kind of paranormal Etch-A-Sketch now? Why hadn’t this happened before? Could he make it happen again? 

“Uh...okay.” Keith moved to the other side of Lance, looking at his bare arm. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against the skin there. “Um...hi. It’s Keith. You’re in my room, and, uh...sorry about the tattoos.” 

Static tingled his other arm and Lance shook it to wake it up. The sensation died down and he looked at it. A faded _Keith_ was scrawled down his arm, followed by _sorry._

“Okaaaay.” Lance was freaked out, one thousand percent. He wanted to scream or run or flail in terror. But-- He watched the words disappear, line by line, and it kinda tickled. Whatever it was, probably this Keith dude, was trying to communicate. Pidge never mentioned this form of communication with ghosts when they broke down ghost hunting. 

Lance moved to the bed, sitting down. He could do this, he could make Pidge proud. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Good question,” Keith snorted. “This is pretty new to me too, man.” After some thought, he drew his hand across Lance’s arm again and said, more purposefully, “You’re the first one I’ve ever been able to talk to.”

Lance squinted at the words. They were a jumble. He could make out a few, but there were big patches of his skin that were just blobs. This better not give him scars. “Are you five or did you forget how to write while you were dead?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Keith bent over and said, slow and deliberately to Lance’s forearm, spelling out the letters as he did, “You...are...the...first...to...hear...me.” Well, ‘hear,’ whatever. Close enough. 

The words showed up clear and neat and the static was becoming more manageable. “Cool.” What did someone say to a ghost? Wait. The camera, he needed to record this. He fumbled to grab the camera left on the desk and sat back down. He positioned it so it caught both his arms and hit record. 

“I have the ghost Keith Kogane with me in this room and I’m communicating with him through...uh, my skin.” Lance held up his bare arms. The words already gone.

“Keith, if you can hear me, write ‘Yes’.”

Keith crossed his arms, intending to be stubborn. Who needed to talk, person to person, right? When you could just exploit that for sensationalism? “In your dreams, dickbreath,” he muttered. 

To his horror, the words showed up perfectly clear on Lance’s arm without Keith even touching him.

Lance clapped his hand over _dickbreath_. “No! Goddammit.” He switched off the camera. “C’mon, can’t you do something for me? I got a grade to maintain.” When nothing appeared on his skin he added, “I’ll make you a YouTube star, you’ll get super famous.”

Keith was trying not to be hurt that this douchebag who just waltzed into his room, fucked with his stuff, and insulted him was only doing it for a grade of some kind - not because he actually had any interest in talking. Like, if he was alive, this kid seemed like the kind Keith would have avoided at all costs in school. They never would’ve been friends. But goddammit, being dead was _boring_ and this was the first time he connected to anyone - not that he’d actually tried. It was mostly an accident. “What the fuck is YouTube?” Keith asked. 

The word that painted itself on Lance’s arm was not ‘YouTube’ - it was _Lonely._

“What!” Keith squawked indignantly. “I didn’t _say_ that! I didn’t! What is even _happening_ with this shit?!”

“Lonely?” Lance’s heart squeezed. If there was something he understood, it was loneliness. If it weren't for Hunk and Pidge, he’d be the weird foreign kid that was too feminine to hang with the guys and had more in common with the girls. Well, he was still the weird foreign kid, but it didn’t matter as much in university _and_ he had his friends. Double plus. This ghost had this old house no one lived in.

Making a show of putting the camera away he looked up at the ceiling, not really sure where to look to talk to the ghost, but ghosts floated right? “Don’t worry, if you don’t want to be filmed, I won't. I was planning on adding effects in post anyway to make it look like the house was haunted."

When he woke up this morning he didn't believe in ghosts and now he was sitting here talking casually to some dead kid. That, or he'd gone bonkers and this was all a fever dream from the inside of an asylum. 

Well, that accomplished something at least. Keith sat back, watching the emotion play across Lance’s face. Evidently, he’d hit on something that softened him, made him less obnoxious. Now Keith felt like an asshole again. He quirked a little smile.

“Hey,” he said, mischievous. “Wanna have some fun?”

"You're a very nice arm-writer, but I don't think humans and ghosts can do that." 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Watch.” He waited for Lance to read the word, then he closed his eyes. He didn’t have to. It didn’t change much and didn’t technically block his vision since he didn’t have “vision” anymore - but it felt familiar and it helped him concentrate. He sent part of himself, his energy or whatever it was, through the wall and into the bathroom. Then, with a burst of effort, he _pushed_ \- 

There was a loud clang and then Hunk was screaming. “LANCE! LANCE THE TOILET IS HAUNTED GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW HELP!”

Lance looked down at the faded _watch_ and put two and two together. He ran from the room and burst into the bathroom. "What's going--" 

The lid to the toilet was opening and closing like a Muppet and it was wagging its seat like a tongue. It clattered as it moved its "mouth", banging porcelain against porcelain. The clang he heard from Keith's room must've been the tank's lid which was lying on the floor in half. The toilet waved its float ball as if saying "hi" and then everything fell, like someone cutting a puppet's strings. 

When the show was over he realized Hunk was clinging to his arm, face buried in his shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. I don't think the toilet is haunted. It was just--" 

Wait. Did he tell Hunk about Keith? Tell him that this was a joke Keith pulled and it was fine because they could arm-talk? "Air in the pipes. The air exploded out through the toilet, happens all the time in old houses." 

Keith grimaced, having followed Lance to watch whatever he’d do. And like, okay, look, he hadn’t intended to scare this Hunk kid, but he saw an opportunity to show he was real and even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was desperate to keep communicating. Still, there was no way anyone would believe that air in the pipes was a -

“Yeah,” Hunk said shakily, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Keith lifted an eyebrow. 

Interesting that Lance didn’t tell Hunk, though. Why not, he wondered. Was a real haunting something they were unprepared for? He slipped up behind Lance and ran a hand up his arm. 

_Guess it’s our little secret?_

The tingle that meant Keith wrote on him made Lance look down. He blushed and hid his arm behind his back. 

"Did you wanna call it?" 

Hunk nodded. 

"Let's go find Pidge and convince them, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Hunk sighed. "Sorry." 

Keith bit his lip. He was right. Kicked puppy for real. 

“Sorry about that, man - guess I pushed harder than I thought.” 

He’d said it to Hunk, but he glanced over to see the word _sorry _raise and fade on Lance’s arm. He wondered if he could actually do it to the others now that he knew he could. Not Hunk, though. Poor guy looked like he needed a stiff drink. 

Hopefully he hadn’t scared them too bad. Shit. Would they come back? 

He looked to his right and asked Lance. 

_Coming back? _

Lance felt his arms tingle but only caught the tail end of whatever Keith was writing with his ghost pen. "You going to be down to come back this weekend?" he asked Hunk. 

Hunk shook his head. "I'll give you some snacks to bring, but I have plans. Family dinner." 

"Right. Your mom's birthday. Guess I'll have to come with Pidge all by myself. I don't think I can convince them to leave. They'll probably want to spend the night." 

"I'm so glad I have plans," Hunk laughed, coming back into himself. 

"You owe me one." 

One of the benefits of being a ghost? Keith didn’t have to hide the little smile he felt tugging at his lips. 

He considered saying “see you later,” but coming from ghost-script on someone’s arm, Keith decided that might sound a little threatening. Instead, he settled for - “Nice to meet you, Lance.” 

Lance gripped his arm, feeling the raised skin under his palm. This was safe, right? Keith didn't seem dangerous, unless he was the one who also carved _fuck you_ into his shoulder. Then, he was a little dangerous. Though, in the end, the words hadn't scarred. They were gone before even Pidge could see. 

It took an hour to convince Pidge to leave and pack up all the equipment. If there was a way to lock up, they'd leave all the shit there, but anyone break in the windows as easily as the front door. Lance almost thought about making Keith guard their stuff, but it seemed like all the ghost could do was write words in skin and make toilets dance. 

Everyone piled into the van, but Lance paused, looking back at the house. He couldn’t see Keith so he had no idea if he was watching. He waved and mouthed "see you,” before hopping into the back. Pidge had shotgun. 

He listened to Hunk and Pidge banter as they drove back to the dorms. Lance's brain was too full of ghosts and arm-talk to think about…tacos? “We stopping for late night Mexican?”

“Duh, where have you been? I’ve asked you what you wanted five times but you just nodded at me.” Pidge rolled their eyes and held out their phone. “We’re going to this food truck. Add your order so we can pick it up.” 

Lance did as he was told and soon had a bag of tacos to take home. The whole car ride was a blur; he wasn’t even sure how he ended up in his room with his fingers covered in taco grease and his laptop in his lap. He was constantly checking his arms for messages, but neither the sensation nor the words ever appeared. He was going crazy.

Licking his fingers, he pick-typed with his pinkies (the cleanest of all his fingers),_ can ghosts hurt you. _

That led to a deep dive into parts of the web he’d never explored. At every deadend he searched something new:

_Ghosts writing on my arm_  
Can ghosts talk  
Befriending a ghost  
Am I insane 

_And finally, Keith Kogane 1998 death._

_Two results. Lance opened the first and started reading._

_\--_

_“Woo, yeah, Bitches be pressed,” _Lance’s phone screamed. He fumbled to turn off his alarm. 

_Shit, it was already morning? _

Apparently, Googling ghosts was riveting enough to put him straight to sleep. Well, there was no way he was going to class. He ordered breakfast delivery from some poor sap working their side hustle at the asscrack of dawn. He’d ruined his diet last night with whatever grease trap they’d gone to. Lance remembered he forgot to log his food. He pulled up the app and entered half a thumbprint cookie and three tacos. _Yikes. _He was in the red already. Fuck this. All of this. He’d done so well and then this house and Keith had to go and ruin his whole life. 

He turned back to the computer, glaring at Keith’s obituary. 

_ **Local Teenager Found Dead at Red House** _

_Keith Kogane (19) was found dead in his family home at Paxton Manor in what has been ruled a suicide. His body was found in the garage by his stepfather, who said he appeared to have locked the garage door and purposefully left his motorcycle running. This led to a fire that took the local fire department over two hours to put out, though the manor house itself remained unaffected. Keith is described by his teachers as a polite, quiet, artistic student who kept mostly to himself. He enjoyed music, skateboarding, and working on his motorcycle. _

_He is survived by his mother, stepfather, and stepbrother. _

_Keith’s death is another in the long line of tragedies at Paxton Manor, also known as the Red House, by locals. Beginning in 1827…_

Lance stopped reading. The rest was information about the Red House that he’d been studying for weeks. A paragraph and change was all Keith got in his own obituary, and the following two pages were about the house he’d died in. 

He sat back, feeling guilty for his earlier thoughts. “Suicide, huh? That’s sad.” What drove him to commit it? With this new power he could ask Keith directly, but that seemed a bit taboo, even for him. That didn’t stop him thinking about it until his doorbell rang. 

Lance set the laptop aside and collected his breakfast. Once he had the food in hand, he put it next to the laptop before heading to the bathroom. It didn’t matter how shitty of a mood he was in, Lance never skipped his morning routine. 

Bladder empty and face washed and moisturized, he examined his reflection. Lance ran a hand down the front of his chest, following the line of his body. The side of his hand bumped against his stomach. Lance sucked in, and looked at himself from the side while doing the same motion. His hand glided down to his pelvis without interruption. Two inches? He pinched his sides, pulling the skin tight. Yeah, he needed to lose about two inches. He’d have to be very careful with his diet for the next month. No more cheating.

Satisfied with the assessment of his body, he sat down at the table and opened his food. It smelled devine. He dug in, careful to only fill his spoon halfway. He chewed mindfully, until it was mush. The longer he took to eat the fuller he’d feel. 

His laptop went to sleep while he was in the bathroom so he woke it up with a tap of his finger. Keith’s page stared back at him. There was no way he could solve this by himself. He needed help, but who? After a moment of thought, he decided to text Pidge. Pidge knew ghosts.

**Why would someone commit suicide?**

Two seconds later he got back a link to the suicide hotline. He put his spoon in his mouth so he could use both thumbs.

**Not me, a ghost**

_Idk lance, the same reason alive people commit suicide  
Why are you asking me?_

**No I mean  
Why would someone become a ghost after suicide?**

_Oh, well, probably lots of reasons, things they didn’t get to do and regret, haunt the people that drove them to it, get revenge_

**Would a suicide ghost be dangerous?**

_Any ghost can be dangerous, why are you asking me all this_

**Just doing research on our project, nbd  
Thx**

Pidge sent a thumbs up emoji. 

“Ugh, you’re no help,” he told the phone outloud.

He took another bite of macro bowl and paused. He was supposed to be doing six small meals, and he was already in the red. This was going to have to last him till dinner. 

“Can today be canceled?” he asked the room.

His phone dinged letting him know his next class was about to start. “Apparently not.”

\--

Hyperfixation. Lance could feel it take over. Every free moment he was researching the Red House. He was even having stress dreams where he was running from room to room. The common thread in all his obsession was Keith, the victim of suicide. He read some websites on the subject and tried to figure out what he should and shouldn’t talk about with Keith. 

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. Lance rolled over on the couch to look at his empty apartment, one arm dangling off the side. There were still two more days before Pidge, who indeed insisted on spending the night, wanted to go. Apparently they had a _thing_ on Friday but wouldn’t tell Lance what. He felt himself fusing with the couch fibers as he lay there. Cabin fever was taking over and he needed out. The problem was all his friends had class today and he, somehow, had none. 

Lance flicked open his diet tracker. He could exercise? There were no entries for a workout in the past week. He let the phone fall to his chest. Did he want to get up? No. Should he get up? Probably. 

Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he sat up. Taking a stretch, he groaned as his bones popped. The question was, where to? 

His brain answered him before he even asked the question. His mind filled with the Red House and Keith’s room. It hadn’t stopped being full of those things since the last time he was there. Honestly, it wasn’t such a bad idea. He could go there and plan where he’d sleep and take over a few essentials before hand. These weren’t excuses; he was being responsible.

Gathering his things, he made his way to the bus. The combined walk from dorm to bus and bus to manor earned him 5,000 steps. He smiled at the number. And the best part? There was no Hunk to feed him cookies.

The sun was still high in the sky. They always ghost hunted after twilight so he wasn’t sure if Keith would even be awake.

Grabbing the stick hidden under the porch, Lance stuck it between the crack in the door and hit it. The rusted door groaned open and he tugged it the rest of the way. They usually left it open at night so it wouldn’t jam on them, but he was worried that someone might call the cops if they passed by and saw the door hanging open. He pulled it shut, the slam echoing through the house. 

“Keith?” he yelled. 

As he waited, there was a part of him still worried that none of this was real. Maybe it would never feel real and he would half doubt his sanity for the rest of his life. It’d be nice if Keith would say something so that he knew he wasn’t spiraling into madness, thank you very much. “Keith, you here?”

At first, Keith didn’t register the sound. In his existence, memories - what was left of them - would replay sometimes like a skipping CD. Hearing his name called was like that. He’d lived here once. Could be anyone. Anything. 

The second time, he realized it was physical sound. More specifically, now that he could hear it, he’d recognize that bombastic voice anywhere. 

Dropping down to the first floor, he cocked his head and looked at Lance with a frown. “Lance? Everything okay?”

The feeling on his arm was sharp. Not painful, not cutting, but focused. Instead of the dull static that told him the general area where Keith was writing with his ghost pen, it was a concentrated point. 

He lifted his arm. The words were clearer too. "M'fine." Now that he was here, he realized he’d forgotten to make up an excuse to tell Keith why he showed up, by himself, during the day. He hadn’t even thought he needed an excuse, as if he hadn’t really been thinking of Keith as a _person_ till now. 

"I forgot something last time. I think I dropped it." Great, that excuse was right up there with _I need to wash my hair_. 

Keith smirked at that. “No you didn’t. Trust me, I’d notice.” He thought about it for a second. That...could come across as grumpy, and honestly, he was happy to see Lance. So, feeling a little stupid, he concentrated and added: 

_;)_

_A fucking emoji_, Lance thought, looking down at it. As corny as this ghost was, at least Lance had a moment of reprieve that he wasn’t imagining things. It was like the Red House was a different dimension where, when he was here, all this crazy shit was fine but when he left, the world came crashing down around him, drowning him in reality. He preferred knowing he wasn’t crazy inside a haunted house than thinking he was crazy out there. “Did you just draw an emoji on my arm? Dude, lame.” 

_Well excuse the fuck out of me, I was trying to not sound creepy. Also, a what? It’s just a winky face. _

“Woah.” A tingle went up both arms and Lance read it before shaking them out. “Don’t write whole paragraphs, it feels weird.” He rubbed the skin to get the sensation off. “Yeah, a winky face emoji, that’s what a winky face is. They had emojis in the ‘90’s.”

Keith huffed and crossed his arms, shifting his weight out of habit from when he had weight. This little fucker was _sassy_. “I can’t help it. It just...says what I say. You want me to shut up?”

"Well," Lance’s voice echoed. All of a sudden he was very aware that he was speaking to an empty room. He pulled out his phone so he could at least pretend he was talking to someone on the other line. "Can't you use your magic ghost pen to write on the walls or something? Why’s it gotta be my body?" 

Not that Lance could see it, but Keith shrugged. “I have no idea. This has never happened before.” Intrigued, he circled around behind Lance and looked over his shoulder at the thing he was holding. He’d seen a few other kids use theirs to shine light around, so he thought it might be a shitty little pocket flashlight, but looking at it now - “Whoa. Is that a computer?”

"Yeah, technically. It's probably more of a computer than a phone. It's not like I ever call anyone." Lance held his phone up a bit not really sure if Keith was like Casper or like in the walls or what. "I mostly chat with friends and play games." 

Keith blinked. Using your phone not as a phone but to chat with friends. Okay. So like...AOL? He reached out to touch it and the screen rippled for a second, going black before reappearing. “Whoops, sorry - my bad.” 

"What the fuck did you do?” It came out harsher than Lance meant it to. He was more surprised than angry, but his mouth liked to run off without him. 

“Just touched it!” Keith griped. Jesus, what crawled up this guy’s ass and died? “I said sorry! Why are you here, anyway? Come to film?”

“I didn’t-- No, don’t worry about it.” Lance waved off his question. He really didn’t want to talk about why he was here, mostly because he didn’t really know. “Touch it again.”

“What? Why?” 

Lance shrugged. “Because it was cool and I wanna see. It’s like an experiment. Don’t you wanna know?”

“Uh, I guess.” Keith passed his hand through the phone again and the display rippled, sort of like water, but with harsh edges of pixelation. “Huh.” 

“Woah.” Lance grinned. “I have an idea. Wanna try something?”

“Can’t hurt.” Keith snorted out a laugh. “M’already dead.” 

Lance’s laughter caught him off guard, bursting from him in a loud explosion and then breaking apart into giggles. “Oh my God, you’re a ghost with jokes. What is my life?” 

Lance’s reaction made Keith pretty proud, honestly. He’d never exactly been Mr. Personality in life, so it felt...good. Nice. To be able to make someone laugh like that. “Could make another death joke to that, but I’ll bank it for later. So what’s up?”

Lance followed the words as he climbed the stairs, straining his neck and arm to see the _what's up_ above his elbow. He stumbled a little on a step and brought his concentration back to climbing. "I brought some supplies." He pointed to the backpack. "I thought we could play with your powers. Actually, I didn't plan this, but after you touched my phone, I thought it might be fun. Plus it's nice to know you're not a skin condition." 

“Gee thanks,” Keith deadpanned, floating along beside Lance with his hands in his pockets. “By the way, don’t step on the second to last step. It’s busted. You’ve been lucky so far.” 

Freezing his foot in mid-air, Lance held onto the banister to keep from falling in either direction. "Maybe next time lead with that," he said, jumping over the step. 

He stopped on the landing, realizing he wasn't treating Keith like a person again. "Can I go in your room?" 

Keith paused, a little taken aback. “Uh...yeah, sure. Just don’t make fun of my shit again.” 

"Sweet." Lance let himself in and closed the door behind him. "But I'm not the one using cookie scents on my dick." He pulled everything out of his bag. It was mostly face and skin care stuff but there might be a couple things they could try. 

Keith sat down on the floor by the bed, grumbling. “Like you wouldn’t use it if it was all you had,” he muttered before scanning over Lance’s artillery of facial products. “Wow. Are we going to paint our nails and talk about boys while we’re at it?”

"Keith, I know you died in the 90s, but it's the year of our lord 2019 and we don't do gender stereotypes anymore." Lance picked up a bottle, waving it around. "Face cream doesn’t have a gender, anyone can use it."

Keith looked at Lance blandly and wished, not for the first time, that Lance could see it. “I can think of a few people who can’t.” 

Lance squinted at his arm until it faded. _What?_ "Oh! Because you're a ghost." He snapped his fingers, proud of himself. "Right, well all face-havers can use it, then, no offense." 

He placed keys with a little lion keychain, a Fitbit, a couple tubes of Chapstick, his water bottle, and his phone with one of his games running in front of himself. The midi music filled the room. 

"Okay, do your ghost thing." 

Glancing down at the assortment of crap that Lance assembled, Keith made a face. “What is my ‘ghost thing?’ Just...like, mess with it?” He concentrated on the lion, giving it a little flick. It scooted about a quarter inch on the rug. “There.”

Lance was torn between watching his arms and trying to see what Keith would do. "There, what?" He shook his head. "Can't you text me or write somewhere else, it's really hard to follow." 

Well - it was worth a shot. For about five minutes, he tried manipulating the phone (same thing as before), trying to get words to appear on the rug, hell, even using the Chapstick to write - (“Keith?” _Shh I’m trying_) - but while he could pick items up if he focused, nothing he did replicated the ease by which his words just...magically appeared right on Lance’s skin. With a tired sigh, he leaned back. “Apparently not. And I don’t know why. I just...talk. And it shows up. And just on you, no one else. But you can’t hear me? Like, I’m actually speaking out loud.” This time, for Lance’s sake, he spoke slower and tried to concentrate on keeping the words there a little longer so he wouldn’t have to speed read. “I think this is the best I can do. But I can move things around. I could probably write with a pen or something but it would take a lot out of me.”

"You're talking? I thought you were scratching it into me. That's a relief." He sighed and fell back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't know why me; if this happened to Pidge they'd lose their shit. I don't believe in ghosts, er, didn’t I guess. But, Pidge? They're a true believer." He turned on his side, bringing his arms in front of his face so he could watch the words. 

“I know,” Keith smirked. “That’s why none of us do shit around...them.” He picked up on the plural Lance used and figured if that’s what Lance was doing, that would be what Pidge wanted, so, sure. “I’ve kinda learned that ghosts come in two kinds: fuck with you for fun, or book it whenever someone comes in the house. Most ghost hunters are obnoxious to begin with, so if they’re super eager too? We stay away.” 

"Us?" Lance shook his head. He automatically assumed everything weird that happened was all Keith. "So, my arm?" He nodded down to his shoulder. "There's something evil here?" 

Oh, shit. Keith’s face fell and he rubbed his nose, feeling sheepish. “Uh...no. I mean, yes. Yes, ‘us’ there’s more than just me, but no, nothing evil that I know of. Your shoulder...um, that was me. I’m sorry. I yelled, and that happened, and it was the first time I ever. Y’know. So. But, in my defense, you were being a real asshole.” 

Lance bit his lip, chewing on his thoughts. He couldn’t see Keith and he didn't know what he looked like. This might not even be Keith. It might be something bad pretending to be Keith. But then, why didn’t it attack him now, when he was laying on the floor? And why did it warn him about the step? Or play a prank on Hunk? "I don't remember being an asshole, but I also didn't think you existed. So, sorry on both counts." 

“Accepted,” Keith said easily. “But for your future well-being...maybe don’t tease people about dying? And also - I never watched a single fucking episode of _Baywatch_ but I’m guessing it wasn’t enough to make _anyone_ kill themselves.” 

"Point taken," he said into his arms. Fuck, now that he knew Keith really committed suicide he definitely did deserve that and more. "What can I do to make it up to you? You're stuck here right? I could bring you things, or hang out with you on my days off?" 

Instantly riled, Keith stood and crossed the room, not really knowing what he was doing or why he was agitated. He ran his hand through his hair, though it didn’t really move. “I don’t need your pity, Lance. You don’t have to come sit in the dusty old haunted house on Saturdays because you feel sorry for me. I’ve been alone here for...I don’t even know how long. So I’m fine. What year is it, anyway?”

Then lines of text rose like red welts across his arm, pinching as they formed. "Ow, okay, Keith calm down. I'm sorry. Fuck." He sat up waving his arms to ease the pain. It was nothing as bad as last time, but it wasn't pleasant either. "It’s 2019, I told you that already." 

“Right. Sorry.” He went through the motions of taking a deep breath._ You don’t have to be a dick,_ he coached himself. “It...is nice. To talk to someone again.” Sitting back down across from Lance, he picked up Lance’s water bottle and set it spinning on the rug. “Do people still do this stuff? Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle? Sega and scary movies and sleepover stuff?” He sounded wistful, and was honestly glad Lance couldn’t hear it.

"Um, those things still exist, but I'm in college so I mostly play ‘binge drinking before finals’. Sega is dead, we're on the Playstation 4, and everyone drives flying cars." He winked in a random direction. 

Keith laughed. “Lance, I’m right in front of you.”

"Well, that's not creepy to read on your skin," Lance said, but tried winking where he figured Keith might be. 

Keith’s laugh deepened, then quieted. He paused and looked down at his hands. “Hey uh...can I try something? Can I try touching you?” 

"Sure, go ahead." Lance held his hands out, not really sure what to do. 

Keith placed his palms over Lance’s, focusing the same energy he used to manipulate objects or go through walls - whatever it was that made him less-than-human, more-than-air. He tried until he would have been red-faced, part of him not having realized how much he wanted to touch another person again until this moment. Eventually, he had to give up. He was pretty tapped out. 

“Nothing.” He sighed, feeling himself fizzle from the middle plane he currently occupied into wherever he went when he needed to recharge, and then back. “...Tired. Can’t do much more than talk.” 

"That's okay, buddy." Lance felt nothing. He wasn't even sure he expected it to work. "I didn't know ghosts got tired. I can get out of your hair so you can ghost-sleep." 

“I’m not sure how it works either. I guess I only have so much gas in the tank? They didn’t cover this in ghost school,” Keith said wryly, climbing up on the bed to lay down on it. He always went here when he needed to rest, though he technically could just phase out. This felt comfortable, though. Safe. Normal. “I’m on the bed now, by the way, in case you don’t want to wink into nothing again. If you don’t have to go yet...tell me a little more? About what’s changed?” 

Everything since 1998? Lance took a deep breath. “Okay, so, Brittany Murphy is dead, so you’re down one main cast member from _Clueless-_”

“Look at my room, Lance. Do I look like I’ve seen _Clueless_?”

Lance ignored him, “-and the phones aren’t that big anymore, obviously. Basically, no one talks on their phones at all. Not if we can avoid it. In fact…”

By the time the sun was setting, Keith had the most patchworked version of the last two decades that anyone could have. Lance didn’t really run on tangents so much as estuaries, one thought bleeding to the next bleeding to the next, his mouth never stopping. Keith didn’t mind. He was an energetic, entertaining speaker, and would stop to appreciate Keith’s snide commentary with that same effervescent laugh that kept Keith smiling. When Lance finally began to wind down, nearly two hours had passed and the sun was casting long shadows on Kurt Cobain and Danny Way. 

Coughing to clear his throat, Lance reached for his water bottle and took a gulp of air. Empty. He turned the bottle upside down and a drop landed on the floor. "You still awake?" 

Blurred words and nonsense appeared and faded. Were those ghost dreams? "Cute." Lance cleaned up and left his supplies there. Then, as quiet as he could and remembering to hop the second step, he left the Red House. 

\--

It stirred. 

Someone disturbed the quiet deep, the deep beneath the house. The Someone was talking, talking, talking. Disturbing Its sleep. 

Restless, It shifted in the well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to subscribe to this fic for updates! We'll be posting a chapter twice a week until Halloween!  
You can also follow us separately and check out our other fics while you wait for updates :3
> 
> Sail AN: Thanks to everyone reading and if anyone is here that knows me as GlassAlice, welcome! I hope you enjoy this spoopy adventure :3 I want to let you guys know that I'm writing Lance with EDNOS which is what I have. Lance's ED is based off mine. Not all EDs are the same and if you want to know more about EDNOS (which it's changed names but this is what i'm used to) [here is the wiki on it ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Other_specified_feeding_or_eating_disorder)
> 
> Special thanks to my fantastic wonderful perfect beta, Mintusti!!! who helped me out so much  
Check me out [@Yuzuling on Tumblr](https://yuzuling.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Autumn AN: Thanks for reading! We promise things pick up after the initial groundwork of chapter 1. Please leave a comment if you have the time; it’s our bread and butter and just means so much! 
> 
> For the record, Paxton Manor does exist. This Paxton is very loosely based on the real one, which was originally known as Carlheim Manor, if you feel like looking it up. The real front door is blue, but that didn’t sound nearly as cool.  
[Chat us up on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited?s=17)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sail: Welcome back to our Halloween Adventure!! Keith and Lance are going have a little fun so enjoy some cute fluff before shit gets real <3
> 
> Autumn: Remember we said self-indulgent 90s nostalgia? Tell me if you ever did what these kids are about to do.

Turns out, ghosts do dream.

Sort of. 

Keith learned that pretty quickly, but like most things about being dead, dreaming wasn’t quite like it had been when he was alive - and, like most other things about being alive, he didn’t exactly miss it. It wasn’t the same, but it was fine. Crazy things didn’t happen, they were never lucid; none of the cool, whimsical part of dreaming existed on the ethereal plane. It was more like he was simply accessing files. Remembering. Maybe his own? He couldn’t always tell. But they came in bursts, flashes, like someone was flipping through a slideshow of sensory memory. 

Sometimes, he recalled the smell of cooking - the soondubu-jjigae they got when they were sick, or bacon on Sundays, or sometimes freezer pizzas if it was just him and his brother. He hadn’t realized how visceral scent had been until he was reliving it as a vicarious version of himself. Fresh-cut grass. Coffee. Mom’s perfume. Motor oil. 

The last one showed up a few times, but the imagery was different. Sometimes he was looking at sleek chrome and red polish - his motorcycle, he would realize dimly. The sound of tools clanging into a metal box. The dust of a garage over one hundred years old, swept into corners to make way for newer cars. The scuttle of mice. A beer can. 

Smoke. 

Fire.

Those were the ones where Keith wished more than anything he could still wake up, but part of being dead meant that when you flashed from one plane to the other, when the incorporeal energy and mist that made you up was depleted, you didn’t have a choice. You stayed until you could leave again. And no one else could inhabit the nothingness with you. Every soul that still walked retreated to its own corner of non-existence to sleep in the void until they could reemerge, no sooner. So he relived the sensation of lungs squeezing, eyes leaking, scrabbling at the ground, and the far-away smell of crackling flesh and unimaginable heat. He wondered whose memory it was. 

Sometimes, he would catch wisps of the others’ experiences when he wandered the house (babies crying; the stench of urine and vomit and sick sick sick; gunshots; primroses on the trellis; why isn’t he back, he didn’t come back, he _said_ he’d be back; fur coat; crinoline; dog breath) so maybe it was a flash of that. Something that had happened to someone in the house that was so awful, it bled over into his dreaming. It frightened him. 

When he’d faded from his own room, he’d fallen into that film-reel of fire and pain. If he had a body or was capable of anything but divorced experience, he would’ve huddled in on himself and slammed his eyes shut. Why this time, he thought, unable to do anything but stand and burn. Why this and why me. More than the fear, he felt hate, hate pressing down and searing through every ion that made up his soul-shape, leaving him burning so hot it was cold. It had been so long since this. Why now. Why this. 

When it ended, it didn’t end in grease and smoke. This time, something rushed in and swept away the fury and hatred, replacing it with cold - a cold that was welcome, as if walking into winter from the depths of a forge. 

The fire froze. Then it broke - shattered and reassembled and replaced - by the sound of swift Spanish and a bright and cheerful laugh. 

\--

Lance leaned back, a tin of Hunk’s cookies sitting mostly eaten beside him. Not that he'd eaten any; that was all Pidge. He loved Pidge, but without Hunk there to moderate, they could be a handful. Pidge loved ghost hunting more than Lance loved just about anything, and he was actually a bit jealous of their passion. Through mouthfuls of cookies, they’d been rattling off all the changes and tweaks they made to the equipment and how they were totally certain that the thingy would do the thing thing when they pushed the whatever, and etc.

For his part, Lance picked at a sandwich that was more salad than bread and snacked on a side of carrots. He needed to make up for all the garbage he'd eaten recently. Not to mention, he was finally able to pass up cookies without guilt. That was nice, even if it meant being alone with Pidge and Pidge’s enthusiasm. 

The necessities were already in Keith’s room: cold cream, toner, mucin, serum, hyaluronic acid moisturizing face sheet, night mask. Just the basics. He munched on a carrot stick and nodded at appropriate times, pretending to listen but mostly just looking around the parlor they were camped in.

This one was referred to as the “pink” room by all the books he’d read - and for good reason. Everything was pink. Like. _Everything_. The chaise lounge, the loveseat, the china plates gathering dust in a cabinet that had little pink tea roses carved into it. There were aging doilies on the side tables and porcelain lamps that were just as floral and might have been pretty expensive back in the day. It was one of the least threatening rooms, Lance thought, but also reeked of mildew let in from a window that had a chunk of glass missing. He wondered why Keith’s family hadn’t done much to rearrange. Maybe they didn’t own enough furniture to fill all the rooms with stuff that was more modern? He certainly couldn’t blame them. Why were there four sitting rooms? How much space was needed for sitting? How many sitters needed to be accounted for? What amount of time was spent in this house just sitting? 

He was drawn from this critical train of thought by a brush of cold air against his arm, followed by the word _Hi_. 

Finally, an excuse to get out of here. The mildew was getting to him and he could feel his allergies beginning to act up. He covered his arm as he stood. “I gotta use the little boy’s room.”

Pidge didn’t even look up from the monitor. “If you have to take a dump, go in the backyard, I don’t want your poop sitting in a broken toilet while I sleep.”

“Your class is off the charts.” He got up, dusting off his butt. “I’ll do my best to make sure my poop doesn’t haunt you.”

“I appreciate it.” They leaned over and marked something on their iPad and went back to staring.

Ghost hunting, man. Just riveting. 

Though, Lance did have to admit that hanging out with an actual ghost wasn’t half bad- weird, but not bad.

Lance closed the door to the pink room and moved down the hall. Far enough that Pidge couldn’t hear, at least. His nose and throat already felt better. “I’m guessing you’re still here?”

_Yup. Didn’t mean to make you leave. Was just saying hi._

Lance rolled his eyes. “More like you saved me from being bored to tears. Plus, I had something to tell you. As soon as I can put Pidge to bed, I brought some games for us to play.”

Keith sort of stumbled - as much as you can when not really walking. He blinked and cocked his head, checking to see if Lance was plotting something, but he seemed to be pretty genuine. As if he really had come over with the intention of spending time. With Keith. 

“Oh?” He wondered if Lance would feel the smile in his arm. “What kind?” 

Lance shrugged. “Dumb slumber party games. You seemed into them. I even Googled them for you, so I have a list on my phone.”

Keith barked out a laugh, and from across the hall, he saw Zachariah Smith raise an eyebrow at him before moving to a different room. More subdued, he couldn’t help grinning as he said, “Awww Lance, my very first slumber party, you shouldn’t have.”

“Shut up,” Lance said with a smile. _Stupid ghost_. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m all about cameras; I’m not really about spooky houses. This whole thing was Pidge’s idea. I’d much rather do something interesting than watch Pidge stare at heat maps of walls.”

Hmm. Now Keith felt a little bad. “Do you want me to knock some shit over or something? I felt bad for scaring Hunk.”

“As you should.” Poor Hunk, he was so spooked after the bathroom incident. Lance had a feeling Hunk hadn’t bought his excuse. “That was the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. I know last time you wouldn’t let me film you, but could you give Pidge something? It’d make their whole year.”

A wry little smile quirked Keith’s lips. “I didn’t want you filming because you were a dick.”

“Ass.”

Keith ignored him. “I doubt you’d get anything even if I stood in front of you and did jumping jacks, honestly. But yeah, I can try.” He looked back towards the pink room. “What did you have in mind? 

Lance grinned as the words appeared. If this worked he wouldn’t owe Pidge anything ever again, and would also win several awards for being the literal best friend. After a few minutes of figuring out the logistics of their prank and making a rough plan, Lance went back to the Pink Room.

“Hey, loser. Did I miss anything?”

Pidge sat back on their heels and sighed. “A few blips on the K2, but not much else. How was the woods behind a haunted mansion in the dead of night?” 

“Very Amityville Horror. I took a few selfies just in case they needed my good side for my obituary.” Lance tapped the machine Pidge was currently obsessed with. “How does this work again?”

Pidge explained wavelengths and residual energy and the output versus input of electromagnetic fields until Lance’s head spun. He hoped Keith was following so he’d know what to do. The plan was to try and make Pidge’s machine go off, but if nothing worked then Lance was going to give the signal for Keith to push over that ugly floral plate. 

“Okay so,” Pidge wrapped up. “Now we ask a question and wait for a response. So - is there anyone here with us right now?” 

Keith tried to jump around, wave at it, and talk into it. Nothing happened. He looked at Lance, who was smiling down at Keith’s frustrated grumbling. He blew the bangs from his face, growing even more irritated when that didn’t really change anything, because, you know, dead. How was he supposed to make this dumb box go off? Stupid thing. He kicked it, foot passing straight through.

To Pidge’s shock and Lance’s pleasure, the K2 lit up two of its lights. 

Pidge frowned at it and pushed thin glasses up on their nose. “To be sure - if there is someone here with us, light the first three lights please.” 

Keith bent down and put his hand on it. Three lights obediently lit up. He rolled his eyes. 

“Holy shit,” Pidge breathed. “Holy _shit_. Lance!” They squeak-whispered. “Roll the fucking camera!”

“Holy shit,” Lance grinned. Keith was doing it. He grabbed the camcorder that was sitting by their snacks and pressed record. “This is gonna be so good.”

“Okay okay. Can you tell us your name?” 

Silence. 

“What’s keeping you here, spirit?” 

Lance’s arm tingled with a tragic plea of, _your mom_. He held his breath so he wouldn’t laugh.

“What can we help you do?”

Now the tingling was more pronounced, like Keith was irritated. _Tell them I can’t answer much more than yes or no questions with this dumb little Lite Brite._

“Hey, Pidge.”

“Shhh! Lance, just make sure you get it.”

“Yeah, but I think it would be--”

“Shut up!” They shot a glare over their shoulder, holding a finger to their lips. 

“It can’t answer your dumb questions with a light br-- box!" he yelled over them. This is why they needed Hunk here. "The light box. Yes and no questions only, right? _Please_," he sighed, voice coming back down to normal. 

Keith grinned up at him from where he was crouched next to the K2 meter. “Heh. Thanks.” 

Pidge grunted before nodding. “You’re right. Basics. Sorry, I got excited.” They took a breath. “Okay, take two I guess. So - if the answer is no, no lights. If the answer is yes, light up the K2. Okay?” 

Blip. 

“Great. Thank you. Now, did you live in this house?”

Blip.

“Thank you. Is your name…” Pidge glanced down at one of their notes. “Charity Thomas?”

Nothing. 

“Zachariah Smith?”

Nothing.

“George Horner?”

“Oh brother.” Keith sat down and got comfortable. “They’re going through literally everyone who lived here. You got a book or something?” 

Lance bit his lip to keep from laughing. Once he was sure he could keep a straight face he said, "We only have sixty-four gigs and you're going to fill it up with a list of names." Could Lance help them? Yes. Was it more fun to razz them? Definitely yes. 

"I brought extra cards." Pidge waved him off. "Now quiet, don't scare off the ghost." 

"I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the opposite." Lance pulled out his phone and opened his notes. With one hand he typed, _Want me to help them?_ and held up his phone in the direction of the K2. 

“Ugh, please, before I break this stupid thing,” Keith huffed. “You owe me.” 

"Fair," Lance whispered. 

Pidge looked down for the next name and Lance took his chance, "Keith Kogane?" 

"Uhg," Pidge round on him. "I'm trying to go in order!" 

"But, look!" Lance said, pointing as dramatically as he could. He was doing his best to come off surprised and awed. 

Pidge turned and followed his finger to see the lights glowing in confirmation. 

_Boo_, Lance’s arm said. Keith chuckled as he watched Lance smile down at it. 

“Wow - uh - okay then. Hi Keith. My name is Pidge, this is Lance.” Pidge adjusted their glasses again, wiping sweaty palms on their pants. “So, are you the only spirit in this house?”

“Unfortunately not,” Keith sighed, leaning back from the K2. “And it’s just as unsettling for me as it is for you to be minding my own damn business and there goes someone with a hole in their head.” 

Typing furiously, Lance held up his phone behind Pidge's head. _There's really someone with a hole in their head?_

“Yeah, looks like maybe 1920s ish? We don’t really communicate. Or if we can, we never have.” Keith shrugged. “All of us, I mean. Not just me and Holehead. Maybe it’s just me and they have secret parties when I’m not around.” 

"That's rough, man," Lance said out loud. 

"What?" Pidge asked distractedly. 

_Shit_. "Uh, it's rough coming up with questions on the spot, we should've written some down." 

Pidge nodded. "I'm trying to remember all the things they ask on _Ghost Hunters_." 

"I got one." He could ask Keith anything whenever, but there was something about this. It was different and fun. He zoomed into the K2. "Are you single and ready to mingle?" 

If looks could kill, the Red House would be one resident richer. Pidge looked equally unamused. 

“Just dying to,” Keith said flatly, but did NOT light up the K2. 

Lance clapped a hand over his mouth when he saw Keith's reply but unfortunately Pidge assumed he was laughing at them. 

"This is a serious investigation for our very serious grade and we've made a huge breakthrough." Pidge pinched their nose, glasses rising to their forehead. "So if you could not be a child for the next hour, our serious grades will thank you." 

Eyes wide with glee, he pulled his hand off his mouth and blurted, "Are you hot?" then slapped it back over. 

“That’s it.” Pidge ran full tilt at Lance, fist in the air. He dodged, putting gaudy pink furniture between them. 

That one gave Keith pause. “Uh.” Was he? Not ugly, but nothing special. He’d never thought much about his appearance, since he didn’t really pursue dating while alive for...reasons. But if he were alive right now, with Lance asking, he sure would be blushing. Since there wasn’t an “I don’t know” button, Keith settled for the safe answer: the sarcastic one. “Not anymore.” 

Lance was playing ring-around-the-couch when the tingle came. He faked left and ran right, but Pidge cut him off, so he backtracked to put the couch between them again. Risking a glance down, he saw the fading words and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes flicked to the K2 that stayed dark. 

Pidge ran into him with an _oof_ and pounded their fists on his back in that annoyed younger sibling way that feels more like a massage. 

Did Keith have a hole through his head too? The obituary he'd read said Keith had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, so maybe he was all blue and shriveled. Though there was that fire, too. Was he burnt and crispy?

Lance pushed Pidge off him. "Stop, we have a guest. Did you forget about your ghost?" He turned to the K2. "And you need to have more confidence in your ghostly appearance, flaunt it, even if you _are_ blue." 

Keith snorted and laughed. “I’m not blue. I don’t look any different. I just never considered myself...anyway. Next question.” 

Lance felt embarrassed. No, that wasn't right. It was too distant, too forgien to belong to him. Yet, there it was, on the edge of his consciousness and warming his cheeks. He touched them in confusion. 

"You're acting really weird." Pidge leaned towards him, quirking a brow. 

Lance watched their hazel eyes flick to his arm where Keith's words were disappearing. “No I’m not.” He hid his arms behind his back and put some space between them. 

"What was that?" They tugged on his arm, trying to get a glimpse of whatever it was they saw. 

"What was what?" He turned to head back to their small nest of equipment on the floor. 

"That thing on your arm, it looked like--" 

"Hm?" The tingle faded, letting Lance know his arms were blank. Praying that Keith would keep his mouth shut, he showed Pidge. "What do you mean?" He looked over his arm as if he were equally confused. 

Pidge squinted, pushing their glasses into place. "I thought I saw…nevermind.”

Fuck, that was close. 

Pidge did remember then what they had been doing and returned to their seat, clearing their throat as they resumed their professionalism. They spared Lance one last glance to make sure he was still recording. 

Lance picked up the camera, and wiggled it. “‘M ready when you are.”

“Okay Keith. You still with us?”

Blip.

“Great, thank you. I apologize for my colleague’s...well, existence. Okay so - did you die in this house?”

Keith sighed. He knew this would come up sooner or later. “Yes,” he said, and stroked the K2 to light it up. He was pretty sure, anyway. Why else would he be here?

“Alright,” Pidge said bluntly. “The newspaper says you killed yourself. Is that true?”

"Pidge!" Lance gaped at Pidge. They were making the same mistake he had. Last time he tried asking about a ghost’s death was less than pleasant. He’d rather not go through that again.

With a sensation like a static shock, Keith jolted in and out of their plane. What was happening? He felt like electricity itself. 

The hair on Lance's arms stood on end as if they were being pulled by a rubber balloon. He swiped at them, trying to brush off the static. "Calm down," he said to his arms as words flew past. He couldn't make any of them out before they disappeared. 

“No I...I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that to...to my mom, or my...” Keith said, standing, flickering in and out, lighting up a lamp that hadn’t seen light in forty years. The bulb exploded, scattering glass and sparks. “I wouldn’t _do that! Why would you say that?! That’s a lie!_”

Pidge yelped and ducked, covering their head. 

Red lines cut themselves across Lance’s skin. They burned with every letter. He cried out, cradling his arms, "We're sorry! Keith, stop!" 

A plate cracked and shattered. The flower plate, Lance realized numbly. 

Keith was freaking out; Lance didn't know how he knew, he just did. He rocked back and forth through the pain as more confusion spread in angry lines. Dolls flew across the room, their porcelain faces cracked as they smashed into the walls. He needed to do _something_. Lance concentrated. He wasn't sure what he was doing, exactly, just thinking really hard at the made up image of Keith he’d formed. _Stop, please. It hurts_. 

And somehow - Keith heard him. 

As loud as if Lance was begging in his ear, something sliced through the panic and anger and fear and confusion and made Keith snap back like a broken rubber band. _It hurts_, he heard, and he looked dazedly around at the mess of shattered glass and porcelain. He couldn’t remember what he'd been doing, or saying. The whole room was a mess, but Keith had no idea why. He saw Lance bent over, rocking, and he phased next to him in an instant, running his hands over Lance’s arms and asking, “What happened? Are you alright? What’s happening? Lance?” 

The pain dissipated and was slowly replaced by the cool sensation of buzzing under his skin. Lance leaned back and watched the red lines fade out, replaced by the soft outline of Keith's normal words. He let out a long, shuddering sigh. That was much more intense than the first time. 

"Better now, but we need to talk." Lance massaged his skin even though the pain was gone. "I'll meet you in your room?" 

Shaken, the meek “sure” Keith murmured showed up as goosebumps across Lance’s arm. 

Lance stood up to check on Pidge. Keith and all this weird shit could wait. With all the flying glass and porcelain he was more concerned for his friend. He put a hand on their shoulder. "You okay, Pigeon?" 

Pidge lowered steady hands from their head and looked up, eyes wide and shining. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'm okay! That was the coolest thing that's ever happened to me! Ghost are _real_ and we have _proof_." 

The weight of the world seemed to fall on Lance and he slouched under it. "Of course." He should've known Pidge wasn't phased. Sometimes, he wished he had normal friends. "But new rule. No more asking why or how someone died, okay?" 

Pidge opened their mouth to protest but Lance held up his finger. "Habababa, no. You agree or I'm out. I'll ask to be assigned to a different group." 

"Fine." Pidge looked away, pouting. 

"Swear on it." Lance held out his hand. 

"You are so extra. Fine. I swear." Pidge shook his hand. 

"Good." He stood up. "That was too much for me, I'm going to head to bed. You coming?" 

Pidge shook their head. "I'm going to stay up as long as I can and see what else I can get." 

Lance hesitated. "Just…be careful, okay?" 

"I will." 

Pidge's grin said otherwise, but Lance was too over this to care. "Night, loser." 

\--

Lance trudged his way to Keith's room. Keith was dangerous, unhinged. He went off like a bomb every time someone talked about his death, and for some unknown reason, it physically hurt. 

Maybe he really should walk from this project. His life was more important than a school assignment with actual ghosts. Ghosts that caused harm. For the umpteenth time that night he wished for Hunk. 

Standing in front of Keith's door, he waffled about what to do for probably way too long. He was scared. Scared of Keith, scared of this house, scared of what was happening to him. Why did Keith's words show up on _his_ skin and no one else's?

On the other hand, he'd somehow felt that Keith was just as scared. The racing panic of confusion had filled the room and overflowed into Lance. He was sure Pidge felt it too… Right? That must be why they weren't scared after. Keith didn't seem to be _trying_ to hurt anyone. They'd both been caught in the friendly fire of Keith's emotions. 

"Arg!" Lance carded both hands through his hair. He was too dumb to figure this out with logic. He'd go with his gut and his gut told him that if he were in Keith's place, he'd want to at least be listened to. So he turned the knob and walked in. 

Keith had been sitting on the bed, head in his hands, but jolted at the sound of the door. Lance looked haggard, and Keith felt responsible, but he legitimately didn’t know _why_. It was pain in a way he’d never experienced before, not localized or surface-level like a wound, but like his whole being had turned to battery acid and erased his conscious mind. It scared the shit out of him. 

“Lance!” He scrambled up and ran to touch him, find some grounding, only to have his hand pass right through. Of course. “Lance, what happened?!” 

The room was electric. A jolt ran through Lance, but it wasn’t painful - it was nervous. He sat down on the bed. “Hope I didn’t sit on you.” His head was throbbing and all he wanted to do was to massage his temples, but he needed to be able to see his arms. “You happened. I think. Unless there’s something else here that can carve words into me.”

“Wh...but I didn’t...I don’t remember. You guys were running around, Pidge said something, it got so _loud_...and then you were hurt?” He frowned, shaking out his hands and pacing. “Did I...what did I _do_?” The words ran over his arms at lightning speed, but they were at least readable. 

“You were throwing things and breaking shit, saying that Pidge was wrong.” Lance didn’t want to say the words directly. He wasn’t sure what would trigger Keith’s rage.

“I-I didn’t...I _wouldn’t-_“ Keith started, threading his fingers into his hair and gripping. He tried to settle. Focus. He glanced miserably up at Lance. “I don’t remember, and that scares the hell out of me. I would never hurt you. Or anyone. Not on purpose.” His form shimmered as he took in what, twenty years ago, would have been a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Lance.” 

Lance sat as the words faded, using the time to think and more importantly, to feel. The nervous buzz around him shifted and _fell_. The energy sank into a chill and he shivered. Lance remembered the blush that rose as embarrassed words flitted in shy lines. The pain, the terror, of Keith denying a suicide. He was sure, now, that these weren’t his own feelings. They were Keith's. That was a relief. Keith wasn’t hurting him, not on purpose, just like he said. It was also terrifying. He didn’t want to feel what Keith felt. No wonder people were scared of ghosts.

“I believe you.” Lance fell back onto the bed. None of this made sense. “Why do you think you can talk to me?”

“I have no idea,” Keith spoke slowly, stressing it. “I was talking out loud the whole time and not a word on Pidge. I…” he watched Lance shiver again and realized how much more terrifying this probably was for him. “Hold on a second.” 

“Keith?” Lance’s voice faded as Keith sank through the floor. He found Pidge asking questions of a handheld recorder. Scanning the room, he tried to find something that would do. _Ah ha. _ He focused on taking in all the energy he could from whatever the glowing thing was, envisioning forming a sort of basketball of raw energy that he could hold. Then he floated back up to Lance and his room and on a whim, not even knowing if he could make this work, he held the “ball” up and guided it as best he could. First, nothing happened. 

With a firmer push, the Christmas lights around the room warmed up into gentle light. With what he had left, he _pushed_ into the old boombox, and to his immense delight and relief, the soft opening rift of “The Man Who Stole the World” started playing - low, but there. He was glad he’d left that CD in. He didn’t have the energy to work the radio. 

Coming to sit next to Lance, he reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder - more for himself than anything. 

“There,” he said, soft and low, hoping that the lines would feel as soothing as he was trying to sound. “Is that a little better?”

Lance sat up on his elbows, the Christmas lights reflecting in his eyes. “Woah.” Warmth seemed to flow back into him, but only on one side. He turned his head, looking into the empty space beside him. “Keith?”

Keith smiled. “Yep. Hey.” 

“Woah.”

“Whoa is right. How’d you know? Can you feel me?” 

“No. Yes? It’s warm, er, I guess _you’re_ warm.” It was weird to look into the blank spot and see nothing and have to look down at his arms to read the reply. Somehow, despite the strangeness, it felt nice. Comfortable. As comfortable as a person could be in a haunted house sitting next to a ghost, he guessed. 

“Really?” That calmed the storm inside Keith a bit and his smile relaxed. “Good. I don’t know how long I can hold it, but you seemed cold.” 

Lance hummed. “Thanks.” He shifted on the bed so that his back was up against the wall. “I hope you’re not going to fade on me again. First person to fall asleep at a slumber party gets a dick drawn on his face.”

Keith’s smile dropped. “Oh yeah...guess I already fucked it up, didn’t I? The slumber party.” 

"Big time. That was the most epic party fail I've ever seen." Lance turned to face the warmth. "Good thing I was there to save you. None of the popular kids will notice." 

With a snort, Keith settled in next to Lance, hands behind his head. “Like I care.” Then a thought occurred to him and he brought them down to rest uneasily in his lap. “This is...probably the only night you’re staying, isn’t it?” 

"Well…” Lance took a moment, puzzling out their schedule out loud, “We're filming all month and then we go into post production. The whole project is due by finals. We planned a few overnight stays, but we were also expecting nothing to happen. We'll, everyone except Pidge.” Lance rolled his eyes. “They were so excited about your tantrum that the number of times we have to sleep here probably just increased." He paused, cocking his head." Why?" 

“Uh.” _Because I’ll miss you_, he thought, and hoped that wouldn’t show up on Lance’s arm too. “Just...asking.” 

Cold flickered before the warmth came back. _Interesting_. "Don't worry about it. Pidge will do the grunt work and we'll be gone before you know it." Something was nagging at the back of Lance's mind, he wanted to ask, but--

"Can I ask a kinda personal question?" He waved his hands to reassure Keith. "I'm not going to ask about your death, I promise." ”

Keith winced but sighed. He owed Lance that much. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

"Have you ever seen _Casper_? That old live action with Christina Ricci, my first crush." Lance didn’t need to tell Keith that last part, but really, she was probably everyone’s first crush. 

“That’s a personal question?” Keith snorted at Lance. “But...I have, actually. Kid I would babysit loved it.”

“That part at the end, where he turns into a real boy? That’s how I’m imagining you and I thought the chances of you looking exactly like Casper were slim.”

“Uhhh…” Keith racked his brain for any memory of what Casper the Ghost looked like as a person. Blonde was about all he could come up with. And, like, 12. “No, I don’t look like Casper. First off, I’m 19, so I actually went through puberty. Also not blonde.” Something clicked and Keith raised an amused eyebrow. “You could just ask me, you know.” 

Bending over, Lance covered the words until they faded. The worst part about communicating like this was how long lasting and _real_ words became. The embarrassment he felt was written in his own skin and staring him in the face. It was too personal. There were times he wished they could talk like normal, but there was nothing normal about this.

“Then...” Still hunched over, Lance picked at his jeans. He shouldn’t care about this, why did he care? “What do you look like?”

“That’s twice you’ve asked me tonight, you know,” Keith remarked, watching Lance tug at a loose thread. “Uh...god, I dunno. Black hair? Kinda long? Eyes are sorta dark grey?” He frowned. It had been a long time since he’d actually seen himself. 

Lance’s heart pounded as Keith described himself. Hair kinda long? Like a man bun? No, he was from the 90’s… A bowl cut? Hm. This didn’t help at all. 

“This should make you happy though: I’m a little shorter than you.” 

Snorting, Lance looked up from the hole he was making, not that there was anything to see. He went back to staring at his arms. “That’d be a weird flex on a ghost.”

“A what?”

“A weird flex. Like, _weird flex, but okay_. The meme?”

“Lance. Take a moment.” 

“What, like there weren’t memes in the 90’s?” _Oh._ “Sometimes, I think it’d be easier if you were from the 1890’s instead, then I wouldn’t assume you know things.”

The tingle rippled down Lance’s arm like a wave - a feeling he’d come to realize was Keith’s amusement. 

“A weird flex is, like, bragging about something that doesn’t matter and no one cares about. What would be the point of being taller than someone you couldn’t see? It’s a weird flex.”

“Oh - I wasn’t bragging.” 

“No, not...nevermind. We’ll work on slang next time.”

A thought occurred to Keith and he glanced at his desk. “Actually, I think there’s a picture in my top desk drawer if you’re really that curious. Pretty recent, too, so.”

Lance hesitated a moment. That was the same drawer that’d been jammed. Was Keith holding it shut last time? Lance concealed his eagerness with an air of indifference. There wasn’t a picture on the website about Keith’s death and it was so utterly _not_ news that there wasn’t much more about him anywhere.

The drawer opened easily. So it had been Keith; for being dead, he was very private. That being said, he _was_ letting Lance go through his desk, so, maybe he’d earned some trust.

A dusty frame sat upside down underneath some papers and a few stickers. Lance lifted the hem of his shirt to dust it off. 

Keith pretended not to notice the flash of skin revealed under Lance's shirt. He didn't even look at the hip bone that cut its way down the side of Lance's stomach. He definitely didn't lean closer to see if there was a line of hair under his belly button. He wasn't going to use his invisibility for nefarious acts, obviously. He contented himself with looking over Lance’s shoulder instead. 

Underneath the dust was a picture of two men standing in front of a motorcycle. The taller one was in his mid-to-late twenties with military-cut black hair, wearing the blue dress uniform of the Marines. He was grinning, obviously proud, with his hand on the shoulder of the shorter man - which made that one Keith. 

He was slender - almost willowy - dressed in ripped cutoff jeans and a plain black t-shirt with a red flannel tied around his waist. He did have black hair and it fell to just below his shoulders and messily into his eyes in the front. Since it was tucked behind his right ear, Lance could see a row of piercings dotting all the way down the curve of it, two hoops at the top followed by a few studs and then a long chain with two silver bars at the end. Under thick eyebrows he had dark eyes, deep-set and almond-shaped. His smile was small, much more subdued than the other man’s, but he looked relaxed and happy - not at all like the kind of person who would lock themselves in a garage to die, but then, what did that even look like? Hot people struggled with mental health, too. It wasn't like a person's appearance dictated how their brain worked. 

Wait. What was that thought just now? 

_Oh no, Keith was hot_. Keith was a hot ghost, Lance knew that now. That was knowledge he had, but no idea what to do with. "You look…" Hot. Sexy. Like a vampire I want to kiss. "alive." Good one, Lance. 

Keith was torn between two very visceral reactions: annoyance and amusement. His body (or whatever) decided for him and he laughed. “Wow, thanks.”

Distant laughter tingled up Lance’s spine, pushing a smile across his face, and at the same time, his own blush burned his cheeks. "Shut up." He tapped the picture. "Who's that?" saying anything to ignore the dual emotions that fought inside him.

Keith glanced back down at the photo. He knew what he would see, but it had been...well, he didn’t know how long, but a really long time since he’d actually looked at it. His features softened and when he spoke, it was with admiration and affection he hadn’t really accessed in a long time. “That’s my brother, Shiro. This was my high school graduation, and he was so annoyed that I wouldn’t keep the stupid cap and gown on for more than five minutes. He came back on furlough just to be there.” 

Lance held the picture up to his nose and squinted. Pulling it away, he shook his head to clear his vision. “You don’t look anything alike. You take after your dad or something?”

“No.” Keith’s voice hardened and his eyes narrowed. “I mean, maybe, I don’t know. He died when I was a baby and mom never talked about him. Shiro's my stepbrother. He takes after his dad.” The words tasted sour as he spit them out, “My stepdad." Not having to deal with his stepdad, Keith reflected, was one of the perks of being dead that he hadn’t really realized before.

Iced goosebumps spelled out each word across Lance’s arms. He rubbed them away, trying to warm up. 

“But Shiro never called me ‘stepbrother.’ I was his kid brother from the start. That’s just the way he was. Is.” He thought about that for a second. “Probably still is, anyway.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Lance cooed, ignoring the chill from talking about his stepdad. Keith's love for Shiro was strong, he could feel it to the point that he thought _he_ loved Shiro. “Your family doesn’t visit you?” As soon as he said it, Lance realized his mistake. “Wait, stupid question. It’s not like your grave is here.”

Talking about being dead with Lance was getting easier. Though he still felt a static shock of panic, he pushed it down for both of their sakes. “I never saw them. I don’t remember what happened. I was alive...I don’t even really remember what I was doing...and then I wasn’t. I was here, and I never saw them again. Movers came and boxed some stuff up, but like...no one touched my room. I didn’t even realize I was dead at first. I thought I’d blacked out. So...no. My grave isn’t here. I don’t know where it is. I don’t even know if I have one.” 

Lance was fidgeting, and Keith put a hand on his shoulder, pushing energy and heat as consciously as he could to make it warm and to convey that everything was fine. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. I know I freaked out before, and I don’t know how...not...to, since I don’t remember? But talking to you about it is...okay.”

Silence stretched as Lance thought. He leaned into the warmth and set the picture down, propped up on the desk. Keith seemed to really like looking at his brother so he might like to have it where he could see it. “I could find him? If you want.”

The possibility of that silenced Keith. He thought about it for a minute - really thought about it. Would he want to see Shiro? Know what he was up to? Had they all moved on? What if they had forgotten him? No, Shiro wouldn’t do that...would he? Did he have a family of his own? Where was his mom? Was she okay? If the answer was ‘no,’ Keith didn’t think he could deal with that. 

“I’m...I’m not sure.” He felt...smaller. Uncertain in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. If he stopped and thought about it for too long, the reality of _death_ would come crashing down and he would start to fritz again, thinking where are they, what happens when they die, why am I stuck here, what happens next, do I cease to exist, what nothing comes after this less-than-something, when - 

Okay, shit, no, don’t think about it. 

Instead, he focused on the boy beside him, the boy he was still “touching,” the most contact he’d had with another person in decades. And Lance was being so nice to him, so patient and taking all this ghost-shit in stride. He looked good in the yellow glow of the Christmas lights, brown skin turned molten and his too-blue eyes looking almost green. If he’d been alive, Keith knew he’d be a mess of nerves and awkward panic right now to have a boy this hot in his room, laying on his bed, looking through his drawers. Being invisible and basically mute helped, but in a sudden stab of longing, he found himself wishing harder than he’d ever wanted anything for the hand on Lance’s shoulder to actually be able to feel. 

The warm spot on Lance’s shoulder turned freezing, then warm, and then back to the strange buzzing similar to when he’d first walked in. Lance rode Keith’s emotions like a wave pool, letting them wash over him. Keith seemed to love his brother a lot and probably the thought of seeing him again _would_ spark a roller-coaster of emotions, so, Lance made space for it inside himself.

Once keith’s emotions settled, Lance spoke again, "Hey, why don't you think about it and let me know next time. No rush. But, for now, let's play one of the games I bought. Get our minds off the bad stuff, huh?" 

“Heh.” Keith dropped his hand and glanced around for Lance’s bags. “I thought I already ruined the slumber party?”

"The party isn't over ‘til one of us falls asleep." Lance grabbed his backpack and got his skincare products out. "But first, skincare time." 

“Oh boy,” Keith said. 

"None of your sass Mr. I-don't-have-skin-anymore. This level of beauty is hard work." Lance preened, patting his smooth cheeks.

Keith chuckled and mumbled as Lance gathered bottles. Then his eyes darted to Lance’s arm and with growing horror he realized that whispering wasn’t quite the same when your words showed up one way or another. 

_Worth it_, Lance’s arm said. 

Something tickled, like running a feather ever so lightly over the inside of his arm. Goosebumps sprouted in a shiver and he looked down. Normally, Keith's words didn't tickle. They pricked or hummed or buzzed, but this time the words were so soft. 

"What's worth it?" He sat back and clipped his hair out of his face. 

Oh, fuck, Keith thought. Uh. Shit. Um. “To….uh, to not have skin. Anymore. Don’t need to waste my time with all this shit.” 

"Rude. This is _expensive_ shit, thank you very much." There was no running water at the house so last time he was here Lance had stowed cold cream and a towel to clean his face. 

As soon as Lance had the tub of white goop open, Keith smirked. “Well, why don’t I help you then?” He reached forward and focused, pulling up more of the stuff than was probably necessary, and then smeared a long line from the top of Lance’s forehead, across his eyelids and nose, and into his mouth. “Perfect,” he laughed. 

"Guh," Lance choked. He spat out the bitter goop, drool dribbling from his open mouth. He tried to get rid of the flavor with his arm, dragging it across his tongue. Eyes glued shut he couldn't see without risking it getting in. "Keith," he coughed, "that wasn't cool." He groped around for the towel that he was sure was _right here_. 

Lance’s answer was a ripple of ‘laughter’ along his arm and his towel getting tossed right on his head. 

"Now you're definitely playing the game I brought. No choice." 

\--

After taking another allergy pill and covering the dusty bed with his sleeping bag and blanket, Lance sat down. His face mask was in place and he had his overnight bag next to him. "You ready for the best night of your afterlife?” 

Keith needed to dart back downstairs to steal the energy from another one of Pidge’s electronics to keep up with the physicality of slumber partying (and they had both laughed to hear the startled, surprised, excited “It happened again! Holy shit, they’re _drawing…_” blah blah etcetera). Now he felt like he could keep going for a while more, and he settled down next to Lance after instructing him to play a different CD - this one a mix of his own. With his old lights on and Guns N’ Roses playing, Keith felt almost like a normal guy again. A normal, alive guy, hanging out with a friend. He took a moment to inwardly laugh at the fact that, for him, the “with a friend” part was more unusual than the “communicating via unexplained astral typography on someone else’s forearm.” 

“That’s a pretty big promise, man,” he said, eyeing Lance’s bag with interest. “You don’t know what kind of parties we have here without you.”

Lance grinned. He’d gone to a second hand store and as soon as he saw this board game he’d thought of Keith. “Oh with Hole-in-the-Head? The same one you said ignored you earlier? Yeah, I’m sure they’re killer.” With a flourish he pulled _Electronic Dream Phone_ from his bag and held it out in front of him. “Ta-da! We’re playing this!”

At first Keith could only stare. Then, his face cracked into a smile. Then a grin. Then he started outright laughing. 

“Are you fucking serious?” He looked at Lance, blithe and smiling and so excited. Keith shook his head. “Of course you’re serious. Oh my god. This is so gay."

"Woah, hey--" 

"You wanna go put on Spice Girls or whatever while we’re at it?”

“The Spice Girls are a national treasure-" 

“From England.”

“- even if they’ll never compare to our Queen Beyoncé.” Lance crossed himself. "Now. New rule," he said, putting the board game down and turning serious. "If you're going to hang out with me, you can't use that slur.” 

Keith blinked. “Huh?”

"You called my boardgame gay and the other day you made fun of my skin care stuff. I'm not going to sit here and take that. I don't take it from alive people and I'm definitely not going to have it written across my skin. Got it?" Lance didn't have a place to look, so he glared down at the bright pink lid of the box. 

“Uh.” Because. What? To hear someone like Lance - obviously popular, charismatic, handsome - defending…_that?_ “Oh. I’m - sorry. I won’t, uh. M’sorry.” 

The words were light as if drawn by an inhale of breath and prickled in that sleep-numb way as they faded. “Thanks.” Lance lifted the lid with a flourish, trying to lift the heavy atmosphere with it. “Okay so. Dream Phone. I read the rules on the way up here and it’s basically like Guess Who, only with boys who have crushes on you.” 

It only took a minute to set up the game, since it wasn’t exactly a complex system. Lance pressed _new game_ on the giant pink phone and set it in the middle of the board. “You’re going down, ghost boy.”

Keith took a measured glance over the options that presented themselves around the circular, neon-saturated board. He made a ‘tsk’ sound that probably wouldn’t translate to Lance, so he voiced his concerns. “None of these boys are good enough for us.” It was weird saying it - weird and freeing. He kept roaming and then stopped. “Except that one. I call Steve. That’s my boyfriend. I win.”

Playing this game, this ‘ha ha, liking boys, what a joke’ game that had been the norm when he was alive? It didn’t feel the same with Lance. Keith had spent all of his adolescence hearing the sneers, as if the very idea of being a boy who liked boys _was_ a punchline. Never once did Lance bat an eye, had even called him out on it, and it made Keith wonder. 

“That’s not how you play, you can’t pick anyone you want and call dibs, then it's not a game.” Lance pouted, making his best puppy eyes. “C’mon, let’s play for real. We have to call the boys and make sure that our bish friend isn’t a liar. ”

“This is absurd,” Keith said, for the record, but he picked up the phone anyway. He watched Lance watch it, and realized it probably was alarming, since from Lance’s perspective, the phone decided to float itself up. “Alright then, loser. Let’s see who bags a man first.”

“You’re on!”

And that was how Keith’s first slumber party began. They took turns drawing cards and dialing the different boys, snarking at each other the whole time. 

Keith about died for a second time at the absolutely affronted look on Lance’s face when he dialed and heard the phone say, “_I_ know who it is, but I’m not telling - Ha ha!” Lance had his moment of desperately smothered laughter when Keith got a call from some chick who assured him it wasn’t so-and-so, her ex, and his arm prickled with an annoyed, “You were right, she is a bitch.” 

In the end, it came down to both of them gunning for Steve, but Keith was shot down. Lance won, finding eternal happiness with Paul the yellow-wearing volleyball guy. 

“Ha!” Lance picked up Paul’s picture and kissed it. “Me ‘n Paul are going to run away together.” He paused. “Except Paul is probably 20 years older than me. Is that illegal? Am I too young to play Electronic Dream Phone?” 

“Technically I’m 20 years older than you,” Keith added. “And yet I might be younger at the same time. When’s your birthday?”

“July 28th. I’m a Leo, baby! You?”

“October 23rd. 1979.”

“Oh right, I’m 1999. That makes us…” Lance counted on his fingers. “Exactly 20 death years apart. If you hadn’t died, we probably wouldn’t ever be friends.” Bristling in shock of his own words, he tried to back track. “Not that I’m happy you died. I would’ve rather you lived, even if we never met.”

Instead of making him sad or angry, that sentence just made Keith grin - a stupid, dopey grin that he didn’t really bother to smother since Lance couldn’t see. “Well, I’m not particularly bothered, since that makes you my first one.” Oh, fuck, that sounded _so pathetic_, and there was really no way to recover from that one, so he had no choice but to let it hang and to feel really fucking lame.

Feeling two sets of emotions was a heady experience. Lance was exhausted from trying to differentiate Keith's from his own. Today had been long. But, Keith’s emotions were warm sometimes, like now. It was nice. Like having an imaginary friend who was real. “You’re my first ghost friend, too.”

It stung a little, that qualification, and Keith didn’t know why, but Lance had given him an elegant out whether he meant to or not. Keith smiled and stretched - or the ghost equivalent of it, where he extended the whatever-ness he was made of as far as it would go and then brought it back just to check what he had left. “You getting tired?”

“Getting there. How're you holding up?”

“I’ve got some left, but not much. I can keep the lights going while you fall asleep, though, if it helps. And I can probably power the boombox for a while. I used to sleep to music, but, I dunno…” Shifting off the bed, Keith turned around and said, “If you want, you can-” but the sentence fizzled and went out when he saw Lance blinking in his general direction like a contented kitten, caramel hair highlighted gold from the lights and his blue eyes looking dreamy and sweet. “Um.”

Lance yawned. “Sorry. Maybe I’m fading faster than I thought. Is it cool if I crash here? I’m not sure what Pidge is doing.” He laid down with eyes like lead and it was all he could do to keep them open to read. “I was joking about the dick thing, though. Please don’t draw on my precious face.”

Keith softened. “Why do you think I asked if you wanted the lights on, dumbass?” 

“Mmn,” Lance curled onto his side, snuggling into himself. “You’re right.” He felt like he was falling into soft warm light. Was it the Christmas lights? For being a billion years old, Keith’s room was comfy. Keith’s presence was comfy and Lance let himself drift into it. “G’night, ghost boy.”

The lights dimmed a little and the music quieted. 

_Night, dweeb. _

\--

Stirring. 

It came up, as might be expected, from the basement, but it was born in the garage. 

It lived in the basement because it was always quiet there. It was weak and hungry and here It was safe to grow. Even when there were intruders, none of them ventured that far. But this time, there were more than footfalls. 

Someone came. 

They came and they sat. They sat and they talked. The Someone didn't have any emptiness for It to eat. So, the Someone talked and It listened. And when It had finished listening, It awoke. And once It awoke, It moved. 

And once It moved, It was hungry. 

It left Its place in the well and drifted, searching for food. There was none in the basement. 

Up. 

On the first floor there was the Someone, the same one who had talked in the basement, but they had no food then and they had no food now. So it moved on. 

Up. 

The second floor. There was another Someone, and they had plenty of food. It could smell the food even through the door. 

So It crept in, quiet, very quiet, and though the Other (not a Someone, not any longer) sensed it and looked around, confused, the Other did not see It. And It crawled into the bed, and settled down into this Someone, sleeping and so still. 

_Oh_, this one was full of emptiness. It settled down and extended Itself into every dark, empty crevice, digging in with sharp claws, hooked and going nowhere. 

Then, unnoticed, it began to feast. 

\--

Keith pressed a hand to Lance’s forehead when he whimpered. It took the last of his energy to warm him, but the sudden, strangled expression creasing the sleeping boy’s brow smoothed under his touch. 

He must’ve imagined it. 

The dark feeling of hopelessness faded, dim and almost imperceptible, but Keith stayed nonetheless. Lance, his first almost-friend, wasn’t going to suffer the same kind of dreaming the Red House brought around. Not on his watch, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always special thanks to Mintusti and Nikole for being fantastic betas
> 
> Sail: Hey good lookin' you made it to the end of chapter two! :3 I hope to see your cute avatar in the comment section and remember to subscribe for updates on this fic, we'll be uploading twice a week until halloween 🎃 Let's celebrate spoopy Klance together as we enjoy October and fall /o/ PS. if you read this and want me to tell you what i like about your avatar lmk! (a fun secret game for those that read end notes)
> 
> Autumn: Steve was my fave. https://i.imgur.com/OzZrGzc.jpg
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: Welcome back, y'all. First off, I want to say a HUGE thank you to Pickles for **[the amazing cover art.](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd/status/1181586952287653888?s=20)** Seriously, they're a joy to work with, and I can't recommend them enough! Head over to Twitter (https://twitter.com/somekindoftuber) to commission them, like, yesterday. Second, thank you to everyone who has commented. It means the world to us, and if you have a hot second, we'd love to hear what you think. Things are picking up now, and I'm really excited for the next few chapters. Enjoy! 
> 
> Sail: Hey-yo! Your favorite October spoopy story is Back! The suicide tag applies pretty heavily to this chapter as well as some gore/graphic depictions of violence, we're still building up so...hold onto your ships because Klance is going for a bumpy ride!! Lance listens to a Spotify playlist in this fic, so if you wanted to listen I've linked it **[Here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0gIQVrrsT151xClJ2ZzT2z?si=5LDt7y2TTduJOojftKcRZw)**

“Okay, but then, Hunk, but _then_, I asked if he’d killed himself and everything went _nuts_! Like, plates shattered and the lights shattered and-” 

Lance rubbed his arm at the memory and frowned at Pidge. “And?” he prompted pointedly. “What did we learn?”

"That haunted houses drain electronics?" 

Lance glared. 

Pidge sighed and grunted, crossing their arms. “We learned that Lance is a pussy when it comes to scientific exploration and discovery.” 

“No,” Lance said, drawing out the word like he was chastising a child. “We learned not to ask dead people how they died when it’s obviously a touchy subject and these were, you know, _real people_ once.”

The smirk Pidge gave him was insufferable. “So you _do_ believe.” 

Hunk was silent through this whole exchange as they walked to the local library, but he glanced over at Lance and quirked a small smile. “I dunno, man, I’m with Lance on this one. End of the day, if ghosts are real, means they were people once, yeah? So a little compassion probably goes a long way.” 

Lance looked deeply smug. Pidge’s lips pursed like they’d licked about seven lemons. “There is nothing wrong with my methodology. But I promised, so way to stand firmly in the way of discovery.” 

For the most part, that was why they were here. Pidge had spent the rest of the slumber party trying to contact any of the other spirits at Paxton, but the only one they’d gotten real indicative confirmation from was Keith. In an effort to ask more empathetic questions for Pidge and a chance for Lance to learn more about the boy he’d played Dream Phone with, they were going to do some digging in whatever the county archives could give them. Pidge was the only one who wasn’t relatively local, but they came from a similarly quaint town in the Midwest, so they were comfortable with the sort of primary sources the local passionate old people - i.e. the town historians - tended to gather. For Lance’s part, he was just sort of planning to Google and hope for the best. 

He’d expected the building to smell old - but like, not _this_ old. He wrinkled his nose as soon as they walked inside as he was slammed face-first into an invisible wall of mothballs or whatever. Pidge took a deep breath and grinned. 

“Ah, research,” they said with satisfaction, and both Lance and Hunk chuckled at that. Lance even gave Pidge an affectionate hair-ruffle that made them grumble good-naturedly. 

A lady with her white hair lightly tinted lilac was squinting at her computer at the front desk. Hunk approached her and struck up a friendly conversation about what they needed, where they could find it, etc. The lady was thrilled to have visitors and more than thrilled to help and Lance wondered sort of sympathetically how many people actually came through this door on any given day to warrant her level of enthusiasm. She took them into a back room, past glass display cases of old clothes, photographs, maps, farm tools, Civil War artifacts, and other daily minutiae, and showed them where the books and newspapers and such were all located. Pidge thanked her and they all picked a workstation. 

Lance sat back, pulling out his phone. There was a giant machine that looked straight out of the 70's taking up most of the desk space. The plastic was yellowing and a crack ran down the side. Lance didn’t know what the huge thing was for. He stood up to look at Pidge who was using it to scroll through something. That looked like a hassle. Google was way better.

He searched Keith’s name again, but there was still only the one obituary. It was a sin that they didn’t include a picture. If they had, Lance wouldn’t have been so thrown off by how hot Keith’d been in life. 

He banged his head against the back of his chair. What other clues did he have besides that Keith was a huge edgelord who loved Nirvana way too much? _His dick smelled like cookies._, Lance’s brain supplied. No, stop, now was not the time to think about dicks. What else? 

His brother! 

Lance searched _Shiro Kogane_. 

Nothing, nothing, some anime, nothing, some dude’s LinkedIn. After ten minutes of researching Shiro from LinkedIn he concluded that there was no chance in hell this was Keith’s brother. He was halfway sure that it was a joke account for the anime character. 

Lance threw his phone down on the desk with a clatter that earned him a glare from Hunk. This was dumb. If Keith’s death was considered foul play then maybe there would have been more coverage, but because it was a suicide, there was nothing. 

Maybe…

He typed in _Keith Kogane investigation_ and hit enter.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk said, clapping his shoulder. 

Lance jumped, hiding his phone in his pocket.

“Whoa, buddy. It’s just me. I’m going for a snack run, want anything?”

He’d felt strange recently and the reality of food seemed awful, more so than usual. “Nah, I’m good. But, I need a break; can I come with?”

Hunk stood on his tippy toes even though he didn’t need to and nodded. “Pidge looks like they won’t stop until there are fries to distract them.”

“Thank God. I need out; this place is so stuffy.” He grabbed his coat and followed Hunk out.

The county library and museum was situated in the more historical part of town where even the banks and McDonald's looked quaint by virtue of being in old buildings. They wordlessly agreed to bypass McDonalds in favor of the superior fries at the Checkers three blocks down. As they walked, Hunk eyed Lance from the side without actually looking at him. Lance squirmed under the casual scrutiny, but did his best to play it off like everything was normal.

“Sooo…” Hunk started. “How was the spooky sleepover on your end?”

“Hm?” He looked up at the architecture of the buildings as they passed to save time. What should he say? _I played Dream Phone with the ghost that threw a tantrum at Pidge while only communicating through my skin_, yeah right. “It was fine. The Pink Room thing was scary but I went to bed after." He elbowed Hunk. "Ghost-Hunting-Pidge is a lot to handle without you.”

Hunk grunted in agreement and amusement. “Well, you tap out and I’ll tap back in. You know how they get when they’re really into something. They don’t mean it, but yeah, it’s definitely...a lot. But hey, we signed onto this project knowing that.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his varsity jacket. “Must’ve been awful trying to sleep there, since it’s getting so much colder.” 

“Nah, I was fine. Keith-- er, Keith’s room is warm and there’s a bed so I didn’t have to sleep on the floor.” They came to a stop at a crosswalk and Lance pressed the button. It really was getting cold, though. It was noon and the metal of the street lights chilled his fingers. He stuffed them into his pockets and swayed as they waited.

“You know,” Hunk said conversationally, watching the red hand sign across the street and carefully not looking at him. “I could just ask ‘what’s really on your mind, you’ve been out of it since this project started?’ but then you’d be all, ‘Who? Me? What? Nooo, I’m fine!’ and we’d both know you were avoiding talking about it but I, of course, wouldn’t push.” He tilted his head, giving Lance a puppy dog side eye. 

_Only Hunk_, Lance thought to himself, _could combine the two. _

“On the other hand.” Hunk turned back to the light. “You _could_ skip all that and give me an honest answer. So, with that out in the open; anything going on lately you wanna talk about?”

Sometimes he really hated Hunk. Not in an actual hate way but in a how-dare-he-know-me-so-well way. The need to say exactly what Hunk said he would say burned his tongue and made his whole body ache. It took all his effort to bite back the excuses welling inside. He jumped in place to send that energy somewhere. 

“I--” Lance felt cornered, eyes flicking to the blinking red hand and willing it to change so he could run away. “I’m fine,” he said, sighing and slumping slightly. The wiggles moved to his leg as he bounced his toe against the ground. Hard. Hard. Harder. “Fuck.” He’d felt that one through the shoe.

A warm hand came down on Lance's shoulder, comforting but also firmly holding him in place. “Okay, buddy. You’re fine. And if you decide you’re not-fine, you can talk to me. Yeah?”

He covered Hunk’s hand with his own and leaned into the touch. “Yeah. Everything is fine, though. This ghost thing is just...weird.”

The light flashed green and Lance tugged on Hunk’s hand. Hunk nodded and they crossed together. 

Checkers was loud, busy, and smelled awful. He held his breath, sometimes holding his hand up so he could smell his own cologne instead. Even worse was the kid crying for a milkshake directly to Lance’s right, which made all of Hunk’s words inaudible. He wanted to plug his ears and run outside, but he was a grown-ass adult and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Whenever Hunk leaned in to say something he nodded as default. After the third nod, Hunk gave him a look that said a nod was not an answer to whatever he’d said. 

“What?” Lance thought maybe he could read Hunk’s lips if he concentrated hard enough, but Hunk shook his head. 

Lance hated when people gave up on talking to him. The sound pressure pressed against his skull. If only this _child_ would _shut up_. He couldn’t take it anymore and tapped Hunk, pointing to his ears then the door. Hunk nodded, smiling.

Ugh, Lance didn’t deserve such a good friend.

As soon as he stepped outside, Lance let out a sigh of relief. The sounds and smells faded as the door closed. His ears still rang, but at least his nerves were calming down. By the time Hunk stepped out with a bag that smelled sour, the ringing had stopped.

“What did you ask me in there?”

“If you at least wanted fries. I got them for you anyway just in case.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance said with false brightness. He took one of the bags from Hunk and together they walked back to the library. The whole way Hunk pretended not to sneak glances at him and Lance pretended not to notice him pretending not to sneak glances. He was almost grateful to be back inside the old library with its musty smell. 

Hunk double-checked with the front desk lady about bringing food inside while Lance snuck past, trying to figure out if there was a way to throw the bag of fries out while also convincing Hunk he’d inhaled them already. Not that anyone should be eating this food; it smelled like the grease had gone rancid. In the end, he settled for dumping half of his into Pidge’s cup so he could at least say he’d had a few. 

Pidge was at a table, flipping through a book of what looked like photographs when Lance turned the corner. They glanced up as he entered and let out a long, thankful groan.

“Sustenaaaance,” they said dramatically, grabbing for the bag before Lance could set it down. 

“Don’t get grease on the book. Eat first, then wash your hands,” he chided, holding it out of reach. 

“Okay, mom,” Pidge said snidely before digging in and humming in pleasure around a handful of fries. “A thousand times better than McDonalds. Thanks, guys.”

The bag that was already starting to become transparent from the grease. Fucking gross. “Not a problem.” Lance flipped the book around so he could look at it. “Is this-?”

“Keith’s yearbook,” Pidge confirmed, grinning. “He was a junior this year. Go check it out, Lance - he was totally your type.” 

Lance took the book from them and tucked it under his arm. He reached into his bag and pulled even more fries out, placing them in Pidge’s cup. “You earned it.” 

“Fuck yeah, thanks Lance!”

He walked away, licking the grease from his fingers and gagged. Nasty - he was right they hadn’t changed the grease in the last year. Yuck. He wanted to spit, but managed to find a water fountain instead. Lance rinsed out his mouth, spitting into the fountain and repeated that over and over. Once his mouth tasted more like tap than rancid fry juice, he headed back to his desk.

Lance set the fries on the ground by his table and opened up his prize. 

Flipping through, he found Keith’s school picture. Keith looked just like he had in his other photo except that his hair was longer, brushing the collarbone peeking out from a black shirt. The soft look he’d had with his brother was gone, replaced by a fuck-the-establishment glare. It was more frown than smile, which seemed to fit his aesthetic more than his personality. Slumber party Keith was all smiles if he was interpreting the flutters of emotion correctly. Pidge was right though, unfortunately, even if Lance had found out what he looked like before they did. Keith had definitely been his type. 

He scanned all the club pages, trying to find additional photos or any indication of what Keith had been up to in high school, and came up empty. “Active, weren’t you?” he asked book-Keith sarcastically. 

Black caught his eye in one photo and he squinted at the dotted background of students playing frisbee. There was Keith, it had to be. No one could be that emo before emo was invented. 

He was leaning against a tree, strumming a guitar. He looked nothing like how he did in his official photo, the anger and resentment giving way to introspection and peace. He was open and soft and… beautiful. Lance traced the black and white face with his finger. 

Without thinking he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. 

When he opened the gallery to check out the shot, his temples flashed with pain. Lance grunted and pushed at them until the weird throbbing settled back down, but there was still a low buzz behind his eyes. More water, then. He was probably dehydrated. 

“Hey guys!” Pidge called out. “I found something else!”

Lance shook his head to clear out the pain and walked back to where Pidge was flipping around on the weird old projector thing. He peered at the document, but decided to save himself the effort. “Okay? What is it?”

“A marriage certificate,” Pidge explained. “April 14th, 1983 - Krolia Kogane marries Ryou Shirogane. So, four-ish years after Keith is born, she remarries. I can’t find his birth certificate, so I don’t know his biological father’s name. But I also found a real estate record that says the family moved into Paxton Manor by November of that same year - two adults and two kids. So I think Keith had a step-sibling. I can’t find anything in the newspaper announcing the marriage though.” 

“Pidge, you’re a master of ancient tech.” Lance tapped their nose.

They growled and pushed Lance away. 

“Touchy." The pounding behind his eyes came back, dotting his vision white. He needed to hatch his plan further away from the nauseating smell of Pidge's fries. "I’m going to head to the bathroom. Keep up the good work.”

Hunk closed the gap Lance made as he left, sliding in close to Pidge and picking up the conversation easily. Pidge nodded as they said something and pointed to the screen, beginning an animated explanation. He was so easily replaceable. One step and the gap he’d left was filled. Sometimes it was hard being a group of three, especially when Hunk and Pidge had more in common. They always seemed to get along easier without Lance. He shook his head, he wasn’t going to read into it. Thoughts that went down that road always led to a dark place. 

Once he was locked safely inside the bathroom stall, he searched _Ryou Shirogane_.

Holy shit, a Facebook. That was stupidly easy. In awe, Lance clicked on it. It was completely unprotected, though there was next to nothing to see, and he could see all of this man's relations. Someone named Takashi Shirogane was listed as his son. He clicked Takashi’s profile.

_Fuck_. Lance had to be friends to see any info. The only public post was “In memory of my little bro.” The picture was the same one Keith had in his room. 

“Holy shit.” 

It was a long shot. The longest shot. But, if Lance could get Takashi...Shiro...whatever, to friend him back… He could _finally_ get some concrete info on Keith and his suicide. But, Keith had told him to wait. With a sigh, Lance swiped the app closed. He’d tell Keith he found his brother and then see what he wanted to do. Telling Pidge to treat ghosts like people was pointless if Lance didn’t take his own advice. 

\--

_Flick, fl-flick...flick-flick_

Lance stared at the erratic pattern of the fluorescent light clinging to life. The Macs lining the wall were all switched off for the lecture and their shiny black surfaces intensified the flickering light. It created twenty tiny rooms with their own flickering lights all in Lance’s peripheral. The light, however, was more interesting than listening to Herrera go on and on about sound quality. Yeah, yeah - if the sound isn’t good, no one will watch, that was videography 101. Not that they had much control in a haunted house. 

Lance was positive that Keith’s little incident clipped their audio. He might have to find some sound effects to make it more intense. Throw a filter on to distort it so it matched the clipped audio…Why hadn’t anyone fixed that damn bulb? 

Hunk leaned over, pulling a tin from his bag, his smile as sweet as the contents. Great. Couldn’t Hunk ever bring kale chips? 

“For tonight?” he asked, instead.

Hunk nodded, sunshine-bright smile taking up his whole face. Lance was a monster. He apologized to Hunk in his head and smiled back. “Looks delish’.”

“They have extra of my love in them.”

“Dude, that doesn’t mean what you want it to mean.”

“Fuentes, Sosene. That’s a warning.” Professor Herrera turned back to the shotgun mic and zoom, continuing the explanation of phantom power. Today was going to be long.

After class Pidge ran up and stopped both of them from getting out of their chairs. “We need to talk to Ibala about our project. She wanted us to stay after.”

Lance scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know why you get to be on a first name basis with our teacher.”

“Because I actually pay attention.”

“They have a point.” Hunk shrugged.

“Et tu, Hunk-te?”

Pidged rolled their eyes and punched Lance on the arm playfully. “This is why.”

“Good, you stayed!” Herrera sat down in a swivel chair across from them, her black hair falling into her lap. She was tinier than Pidge and twice as fiery. She’d gotten her start doing guerrilla journalism in Afghanistan and Lance had mad respect for everything she did. Except when she explained shit they’d already learned. Or, kept them after. 

“Pidge told me you had footage you weren’t sure what to do with because of sensitive content?”

Pidge scoffed. “I thought it was fine, but Lance thinks ghosts are people.”

Lance shook his finger at Pidge. “You asked about his suicide and he flipped out, I’m jus’ sayin’.”

“I said I wouldn’t do it again, but we have the footage and _you_ won’t let me.”

“Can I watch it?” Herrera asked.

The trio fell silent as the reality of what they had in their hands, and the consequences of spreading that around, sunk in for them each in different ways. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hunk said at last.

Lance noticed that even Pidge seemed hesitant and he grew more confused. Pidge had set this whole meeting thing up. Were they trying to find an excuse not to use the footage now? But...they loved this stuff. They’d gone on and on about how this was a huge discovery. Was Pidge growing a conscience?

“When deciding what you should or shouldn’t put in your final edit, you should consider if everyone involved is comfortable with it. Including your subject. No one wants to be _Vice_.” She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and looked at Pidge. “If you can’t show me, then it sounds like something personal happened.” She winked at Lance. “I would suggest editing around it. Post production is magic; it can fix everything.” 

Lance rolled his eyes. Post production was nothing of the sort, but she did have a point about editing around it. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to be choosy with the less sensitive parts and break it up so that it wasn’t obvious what they were asking. No exploiting Keith, or sensationalizing his suicide. 

Duh.

Lance lit up. “That’s genius.” 

“That’s post’s job.” Herrera stood up, but there wasn’t much difference in her height. Her hair swung around her and she pulled it over her shoulder. “Take what makes engaging content and the rest ends up on the floor. Don’t create reality, create a story.”

This didn’t even have to be about Keith, Lance realized with a start. He could craft his own story. That’s what he loved about editing anyway. He was the one in charge of the narrative. He could paint the House as a fraud, or haunted by a man with a hole in his head. 

_Create a story_. One that kept Keith private. Personal. 

All to himself. 

“I have an idea.”

A few hours of planning later and Lance knew what to do. He transferred the latest footage to his laptop. As it downloaded in the background, he opened Premiere. Their project was sparse. They only had half the B roll needed and he'd been slacking as the talking head. Of course, in his defense, he’d been awfully distracted. 

Scrubbing through the clips, he formed the story in his head. He could keep the old intro, but he'd need to record a new tour. 

Lance put his headphones on and cracked his knuckles. Time to work some magic. 

After a three hour editing session that mostly consisted of labeling and marking in-out points, he thought he had the beginnings of a good project. He leaned back, stretching. 

Oh God, it was already two in the afternoon. Lance hadn't had breakfast and now he was missing lunch. Pulling out his phone, he opened his tracker. Swiping through the days, he realized he'd missed more meals than he’d thought. Yesterday he'd only eaten a bowl of broccoli. That was it. 

Ugh, that broccoli was nasty, too. He needed to go shopping again. All his veggies must've gone bad, because his fridge smelled like rot. Everything in there looked fine, but it reeked. 

He could cheat and have cereal. Technically, it wasn't cheating, but he’d decided to ban simple carbs too after he’d learned the truth about oatmeal. Making his way to the kitchen, he eyed the apples sitting on his table. A headache pounded against his temples as the too-sweet smell assaulted him. The apples went bad too, apparently. What was wrong with all his food? Lance picked up the bowl and threw them all away. 

_Delicious, more_. 

Right, he needed to clean out more. Grabbing the trash can, he systematically sorted the whole fridge. It took two trips to dump all the food. How did everything spoil all at once? Whatever. Shopping day was tomorrow anyway. 

Lance smiled at the empty fridge. 

_More_. 

He turned to the pantry. He might as well clean the kitchen while he was at it. 

With single mindedness, Lance scrubbed every inch of the kitchen and threw away all the rotten food. Everything in cans or packaging seemed fine, but all the other food was disgusting. 

A knock at the door shocked him out of his hyperfocus. He glanced at the clock; 6:34 PM. 

Oh, shit. Movie night. 

"One sec!" he called to the door. He was still in his underwear. Digging through a pile of dirty clothes he found a pair of pajama pants. Lance jumped as he walked, wiggling the pants on and trying not to trip. "Sorry about that," he said as he opened the door. 

Hunk held up a bowl of popcorn for Lance to take. "Hey, buddy. You ready for the best movie of your life?" 

"You say that every movie night." Lance took the bowl and sniffed. Today's popcorn was caramel. 

He must've made a face because Hunk quickly added, "I also brought kale chips." 

"You know the way to a man's heart, Hunk." 

"I don't know much about men's hearts, but I don't think it's kale chips," Pidge said, pushing their way through the door to commandeer the couch. “Dibs.”

They all claimed different spots in the tiny living room. “Living room” was a generous term for a couch crammed up against the kitchen and a TV hanging from the wall, but it was better than his old dorm room. At least it _had_ a kitchen. 

"What are we watching?" Lance asked as he settled in on the floor next to Hunk. 

Pidge took up the whole couch, hanging their legs off the edge of the armrest. "_Mothman Prophecies_." 

Lance whined, "Again?" 

"It's a classic." Pidge kicked Lance's back with their foot. 

"Classically boring." Lance punched back, getting Pidge in the thigh. "Can't we watch something else, _anything_ else?" 

Hunk broke them apart. Lance stuck out his tongue and Pidge replied in kind. Hunk pushed Lance's tongue back into his mouth with his fingers and Lance sputtered. "Come on Lance, let Pidge have their fun. If we’re editing around the truth about ghosts, we can at least give them their cryptid cinema. Plus, that Chapstick scene gets me every time." 

Lance rolled his eyes. "Fine. But, I’m keeping all the kale chips for myself." 

“Like anyone wants your kale chips,” Pidge said, starting up the PlayStation.

Hunk passed the chips to Lance with a scoff. “My chips are delicious, if you’d try them.

“No thanks.” Pidge sat down, scooping a handful of popcorn. 

Lance crunched on the chips. At first they were fine, but the more he ate, the more they tasted like dirt and the worse he felt. By halfway through the movie, he couldn't even open his mouth to eat. It felt like his whole mouth was being held shut.

He placed the bowl to the side and tried to pry his mouth open with his fingers as discreetly as possible. His lips felt dry and his jaw was stiff. The more he worked to open his mouth the more nausea filled his stomach. He only stopped once he was on the verge of puking. There was no way he was going to risk vomit in his mouth when he couldn’t open it. The thought of having to swallow it back down made the nausea worse. 

Lance leaned his head against the couch and closed his eyes. He breathed through his nose, willing his stomach to calm down. It took until the movie finished for his body to relax and his headache to settle. Once the lights clicked on, his mouth was able to open, even if it was a bit sore. _What the fuck_. As soon as everyone left he was going to Google lockjaw.

“Wow, a masterpiece,” Pidge whispered.

Hunk huffed a laugh and cracked his back. “Wish I had a dollar for every time you snuck into my room and whispered ‘wake up, number thirty-seven’ right in my ear when I was sleeping.”

Pidge grinned unrepentantly. “You’d be a wealthy man, and you’d thank me.” 

Even as he spoke, Hunk had been watching Lance, and Lance didn’t miss the way his eyes darted to the bowl of kale chips as if to gauge how many were gone. He opted not to acknowledge Hunk at all and casually set the bowl aside. 

“Alright, losers, out of my house,” Lance said, clapping and shooing at them. “I’m not covering for you again if you miss another 8 am class, Pidge. All of my best excuses are used up.”

“But Lance,” they whined, “that’s like your _job_. That’s why you’re our frontman! Your gift for improv!” 

“_Night_, Pidge!”

As soon as they’d left, he’d dumped the rest of the kale chips in the trash. 

That evening, when he was finished flossing, Lance took a minute to check his jaw in the mirror. It still stung at the hinges, as if he’d spent hours clenching his teeth, but he could open his mouth freely. He ended up chalking it up to stress, which was certainly understandable. When one half of his life was class and the other was hanging out in the creepiest murder house imaginable, he was bound to be a little edgy. 

That was what he told himself as he flipped off the light switch and the darkness around him pulsed with _more, more, more_. 

\--

Lance rubbed his arm absentmindedly while Hunk layed out a blanket. They were in the foyer of the Red House having pre-shoot dinner and Hunk had brought a whole picnic basket that smelled sickly sweet. Lance sat down on a corner and watched Hunk unpack the basket. Cake pops, cookies, sandwiches, a bowl of salad, more cookies, bacon wrapped around random vegetables… Lance felt nausea roll in his stomach as the scent of food filled the house. 

One tin of cookies consisted of the ghost-shaped ones Hunk showed him in class. Lance checked his app. He’d had an egg for breakfast and mostly water for lunch, though he had managed to stuff down an energy bar, but there was a distinct lack of greens for the day. Putting his phone down, he leaned over and scooped a plate full of salad.

“You gotta eat more than that, you’re not a rabbit,” Pidge said around a mouthful of cookie. 

Hunk placed one of the sandwiches on his plate. “Seven-grain bread on the sandwiches.” 

“And these have butter I’m sure, and butter is dairy, and dairy is totally like a protein,” Pidge added, placing some ghost cookies right on top of his greens. 

“Ugh, guys, no.” He picked the cookies off, crumbs falling into the leaves. “I’m not that hungry. Let me eat my salad in peace.”

“One cookie? I made them special for ghost night.” Hunk used his best puppy dog eyes.

Lance sighed, “You always make them special for ghost night. I’ll eat one later.”

Pidge licked their fingers and grabbed a bacon-wrapped asparagus. “The only way I’ll eat veggies: wrapped in grease meat. Hunk, you’re a cooking god.”

Lance picked at his salad. Maybe he was getting sick? Food tasted like nothing on good days and like dirt on bad ones. He knew that he might be a bit obsessive with what he ate, more than other people. And sure, Pidge got on him about the weird diets he did. They were always overreacting. But, that was because he was careful about the food he put in his body. He was being _healthy_ So, why did people always gotta give him grief? 

Just because he _cared_ didn’t mean he had a problem. There were two kinds of eating disorders: anorexia and bulimia. He was definitely neither. He ate and he was thin, but not anorexic-thin, and he didn’t throw up on purpose. So he was fine. Fine besides the weird shit that started happening to his body. He’d never controlled his food because of the _taste_. That was new. Then, there was the headaches and nausea that plagued him every meal. That’d never happened before, either. 

Lance was pulled from his internal argument by a brush of warmth along the back of his neck and then the words _I can’t tell you how jealous I am of your actual alive stomach right now, damn_ scrawled across his arm. 

"You can have it, I don't want it," Lance mumbled. 

"Huh?" Pidge turned to him. Hunk's mouth was still open, mid sentence. 

"My stomach is hurting me. Cool if I rest for a bit while you guys finish?" 

"Sure." Hunk smiled, pouring Lance's plate back into the bowl. He'd brought the salad for Lance specifically, anyways. "I'll come get you when we're about to start and I'll save some salad for you." 

"Thanks, man." 

"Don't worry, I'm not touching anything green. It’ll be waiting for you," Pidge offered chivalrously.

Lance stood up and left with a wave. The further he got from the food, the better he felt. Well, better except for the exhaustion that plagued him. Good thing he’d packed tons of canned coffee. 

"Can I crash in your room again?" He hoped Keith could hear him and wasn’t still back at the blanket, drooling ectoplasm onto the cake. 

_You don’t have to ask_. 

Keith was already sitting on the bed when Lance walked into his room looking more dead than Keith himself. He stood up, putting his hands on Lance’s shoulders and checking him over. “Not feeling good, huh? What’s wrong?” 

"Really tired." As tired as he was, Keith's room brought comfort in a weird, twisted way. It was the room of a dead boy, but also felt the most lived-in in the whole house. While the other rooms seemed stuffy or creepy, Keith's room was, well, normal. 

It was also the only place in the house he felt safe. 

He flopped on the bed, curling on his side at the same time his stomach grumbled in protest. "Let’s not talking about real life. Tell me a story."

Following his instincts, Keith lay down beside Lance, big-spooning from the Beyond to provide as much comforting warmth as he could. “Uh...story. Um. Well...once upon a time, like, thirty-ish years ago I guess, there was a boy who hated the crust on bread. And he peeled it off of every sandwich when no one was looking and stuffed it into his pockets because he thought his mom might see it in the trash can. Then, because he was dumb and didn’t think to, I dunno, bury it or whatever, he started hiding them in an old hamper in one of the unused bedrooms. This went on for like, a year, until his older brother decided to start fixing up the room to use as a workout room. And one day he opened the closet where the old hamper was and like 80-something mice ran out, and that’s how the boy figured out his brother was fucking _terrified_ of mice, The End.” 

Lance remembered the straight-edged, crew-cut man standing next to Keith, a sweet looking but serious guy. Imagining that buff dude screaming like a cartoon and jumping on a chair as mice ran under the legs made Lance burst with laughter. "Oh my God, you caused an infestation because you hated crust?" His laughter fell into soft giggles as warmth leaked into his back. Lance relaxed into it, letting it fill him. The hunger seemed to subside and for the first time that week, the thought of eating a whole meal didn't disgust him. "Your life was wild." 

“Heh,” Keith agreed with a chuckle. “Shiro wasn’t even mad. Once the mice were gone, he thought it was funny...but he did give me shit about thinking pizza crust is the reward for finishing the rest of the pizza.” 

"He was right. No one should eat pizza bones." Pizza crust was the boring part of the pizza and definitely not the prize at the end. "Why do you call him Shiro when his name is Takashi?" 

Keith stilled. “...Did you look him up? I thought I told you I wasn’t sure yet.” Pausing, he reconsidered, “Wait...were you looking _me_ up?”

Lance blushed - hard. He was so sleepy he didn't think about what his question would mean. What he'd inadvertently confessed to. 

"Pidge found some info on you. They've been obsessed with learning about you since The Incident." Keith's weird ghost magic faded. Lance panicked, wanting to fix his mistake. "I won't say anything to him unless you want me to. I promise. But, I did find him online." Facebook would probably mean nothing to someone who died at the cusp of AOL. 

Keith sighed. He should have expected Pidge to go digging, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed with Lance. Not just because he’d gone snooping when Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to, but mostly because…

“Lance. You don’t need to go digging or anything. Whatever you want to know...you can just ask me.”

Lance didn't really have an answer for that. On one hand, Keith was right. Lance shouldn't be trying to Facebook stalk his brother, or be keeping pictures from his yearbook. On the other hand, Keith was also technically part of his school assignment that he was working on with two other people. He couldn’t come to the table with info he'd gotten from a ghost. His friends would want to see proof. He realized he was probably silent too long and could feel the jittery static of impatience.

"Keith," Lance said his name like a breath. "I don't know the line between you as a person and you as dead. You were a name on a list of people who died here before I somehow started being able to commune with the deceased." He flipped so that he was facing the fading warmth of Keith. "I'm too dumb to navigate the ethics of this." Lance waved between him and the empty space. "Whatever this is." 

The admission caught Keith somewhere between the realm of irritated and charmed. “You’re not dumb, Lance. But. Okay,” he said, trying for patience. Thankfully, with his words in writing, Lance wouldn’t hear how strained it came out. “It’s weird, yeah, but...we’ll figure it out. And I guess…” He watched his hesitance mark it’s way across Lance’s perfect skin. “...You’ll only be coming around a little while longer anyway.”

Right. Lance wouldn't have an excuse to trespass on a condemned house anymore. His excuse now was already paper thin. Keith would go back to being dead and Lance would go back to life. That hurt. He was growing used to secret messages on his arms and hanging out in Keith's room. "Yeah. I guess I will." 

“I…”

Oh Jesus, Keith begged himself, don’t say it, don’t say it. _Don’t_ be pathetic have some fucking respect for yourself just because you’re dead doesn’t mean-

“I’m glad we still have some time.” Keith winced and was very glad that Lance’s arm didn’t somehow translate his groan. He realized that, if he’d been alive, he likely never would have let that slip out. There was something about being dead and literally invisible that made it easier - or maybe? Honestly? Maybe it was just easy with Lance. 

Lance curled into a ball so that most of his body could feel the electric buzz that was Keith. The feeling that told him that Keith wasn't a figment of his imagination. "Me too." Lance yawned as he spoke. "Wish we could be friends in real life." 

Tentatively, both because the warm energy seemed to be working and because he just wanted to, Keith reached up and stroked Lance’s hair. It probably didn’t feel like much, but at least it was something. “Think you can sleep for a bit?”

Lance’s eyes grew heavy and it felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon. "Yeah." He blinked drowsily, willing his eyes to stay open so he wouldn’t miss anything Keith said.

“Okay.” Keith focused everything he had just to tuck Lance’s jacket closer around him. “Feel better.” 

Reality slipped away and Lance fell into a dreamless sleep. Almost dreamless. He swore there were arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

\--

That evening, Pidge had the grand idea to summon something. Lance, despite learning that Keith and other ghosts existed, didn't think it was possible to actually summon anything. Hunk on the other hand was vehemently against the idea. Even if Pidge had amended the word “summon” to mean more like “strongly request an audience,” Hunk had insisted that none of them stick their noses into anything remotely resembling the sort of occultish dabbling that got teenagers killed in movies. As a compromise, they'd agreed to do a seance with the caveat that they leave Keith alone. 

Lance eyed the pile of baked goods heaped on the nearest coffee table. Hunk must've been stress baking. He tried to breathe through his mouth. There was no way he was touching a single chocolate chip in that pile. 

Pidge had already made quick work of about three brownies as they finished spreading out a tablecloth on the massive dining room table. They’d filled a few old candlesticks they’d found in one of the rooms with contrastingly new taper candles from the Dollar Store and were arranging them in the center in a way that looked dramatic. While Lance was watching this, Hunk was watching him, and he was starting to feel it boring laser holes in the back of his head. It was getting old. 

He glanced over casually, as if he hadn’t felt that persistent, concerned stare for the last five minutes. “What’s up, buddy?”

Hunk immediately schooled his features into a smile. “Did you taste the no-bake balls? They’re vegan - maple syrup for sweetener.” 

His heart squeezed. Lance loved Hunk more than anyone. Who else would make something so healthy - well, “healthy” - just for him? Okay, Lance could think of a few, including his mom, but that didn't lower Hunk's best friend status. "Aw. Did you think of me while you were baking?" 

“I did,” Hunk agreed, and passed him the box. 

"You're so sweet, I'll totally try one after." 

“Good luck cookies only work before the thing you need good luck for, you know.” 

The maple syrup smelled like sugar mixed with swamp gas. The closer Hunk held the box, the worse it got. Lance leaned back to get away. "I'll have one _after_. I'm so full of luck that the good-luck ball things would gain luck the longer they sat in my lucky presence." 

Hunk sighed and relented, though he looked more worried than not eating a cookie had a right to make someone. “No one’s going to force you, man. Don’t worry about it.”

Was Hunk acting weird? He was acting weird, right? Maybe he should talk to Pidge about it. Lance knew Hunk was jumpy when it came to the supernatural, but this cookie business was a whole separate issue. If baking made him feel better, Lance totally supported him, but forcing everyone else to eat said baked goods. That was new. 

"Pidge, we ready?" Lance stood to help set up. Helping Pidge meant being further away from cookies and Hunk's intense stare. 

“Yeah, I think so,” they said, surveying their work. It did look an awful lot like the kind of seance you’d expect to see in a room like this. “So long as you’ve got the cameras done.”

From against the pillar that supported the left side of the door, Keith watched with detached interest. He knew his ghostliness was not required tonight; they’d already been through that. Lance didn’t need his help and he didn’t need to be involved. Still - didn’t mean he couldn’t watch, right? Not as if he had much else to do. 

“A bad idea, this,” a voice said from behind him, and Keith would have jumped out of his skin if he still had it. He whirled around to find a woman, maybe in her early thirties, dressed in what he figured was like...1940s era? But like, casual? Not fancy, that’s for sure. 

“Jesus,” he said, hand over his chest. And then he realized - this was a ghost. This was another ghost from Paxton Manor. Talking to him. They’d never spoken to him, not a single one of them, not once. “Uh,” he tried. “Hi.”

The woman only jerked her head towards the dining room. “Seems they might know better than to do something this foolish. Or that you might warn them.”

Keith glanced over to where Lance and his friends were tweaking camera angles and finding the right lighting. “I dunno...I didn’t figure this sort of thing actually worked. Like...we’re already here, they aren’t really doing anything but talking in a circle.”

“Oh, no, boy,” the woman said, and she sounded almost pitying. It made Keith turn to look at her, fighting an annoyed scowl, when she said something that made him stop. “It’s no wonder you’re colored different, then.”

“Colored different? Different than what? Hey, wait!” But she’d gone. 

"Camera A, ready. Camera B, set. Sound check" Lance held up the zoom. "One, two, three, test, test. We're good." He gave a thumbs up to Hunk. 

"Camera C, aka _my phone_," Hunk said it extra annoyed to remind the rest of the room that he still didn't want to use it. "It’s set. What do we do now?" He toed the edge of the circle, not getting too close. 

Lance looked to Pidge. 

"Just sit down." They sat and held out their hands. 

Lance and Hunk took their spots and linked hands.

"Lance, you start us off, you're the most dramatic." Pidge winked. 

"I don't think that's a good idea at all. Vetoed." Hunk pulled his hands away. "Pidge does it or I'm out." 

Lance tried not to let that hurt. He really did, but it didn't work. There was _absolutely_ something wrong with Hunk and maybe that something was Lance. 

"Can't he at least do the intro to the camera?" Pidge asked.

"No." Hunk shook his head, folding his arms close to his body. “No way.”

What the hell? Hunk was being completely childish. Was this all because he wouldn’t eat a few vegan balls? "Are you that mad about the snacks?" 

"Yes, I am." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“Wow. What the fuck?” Lance threw up his arms in defeat. “If you want me to eat them that badly…” He got up to get the stupid balls.

“Stop it!" Pidge glared at both of them and that set Lance's butt back to the chair. 

"Alright, whatever, fine, I'll do it.” Pidge ended that conversation by striking a match, which had a way of drawing anyone’s attention, and the two losers they were currently interrupting turned and gaped at it like helpless moths. “Right.” Pidge set about lighting each of the candles until all five were flickering and letting off thin curls of smoke. They shook the match to extinguish it and dropped it carelessly on the floor, grinding it into the dust. 

“Everybody hold hands…I said _hold hands_!” Hunk and Lance both jumped to attention and obediently grasped for each other and Pidge. Pidge breathed in a deep, dramatic breath through their nose and let it out with a long sigh. 

“Spirits of the Red House, we honor your presence and welcome you tonight.” 

Well, it made a nice change from the way things had started before, Lance thought. 

“We invite anyone who is here with us to come forward and speak. Give us a sign of your presence.”

Nothing happened. Lance checked the camera to his right and saw their setup in miniature. It looked pretty good, except the top of Hunk's head was cut off. He itched to fix it, but then they'd have to start over and Pidge was already in a mood. 

"We want to learn about you and the house. We mean you no harm, " Pidge tried again. 

One of the candles flickered. Lance could probably zoom in to make it look more dramatic later. If nothing happened, he might try blowing on them. 

"C'mon ghosts, my butt is getting numb." Lance giggled at his own joke. "Owch." Hunk squeezed his hand, side eyeing him. "Okay, I'll shut up." 

For close to twenty minutes, Pidge tried every way of beseeching interaction that they could think of while Hunk and Lance occasionally dropped their hands to rub them on their jeans or shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chairs. Eventually, Lance’s attention span was about shot.

“Hey, Pidge?” he tried. “Maybe we should go film something else for a while and come back to this, figure out what to do to make it look cool later?”

Pidge sighed, but seemed to relent. “I guess. At the very least, it’ll look pretty cool if we -” 

There were three distinct knocks from underneath the table. 

All three of them glanced at each other before rejoining hands. 

“Thank you for responding,” Pidge hedged, trying to keep the eagerness from their voice. “If you can hear us, give us another sign, please.”

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“Not cool,” Hunk murmured. “Not cool not cool not cool-”

“Shh! Thank you. Now - can you tell us your name?” 

This time, the sound was not knocking, but muffled, measured thumps. 

“Was this your house? Did you live here once?”

They weren’t thumps - they were footsteps. Heavy, impossibly heavy footsteps. From the sound of them, coming down the stairs in the hallway. 

One. At. A. Time.

"Not funny, Keith,” Lance whispered at the same time that Hunk said, “I don’t like this.”

Pidge was bouncing in their chair. If Lance had to guess they looked torn between excited and apprehensive, especially when their breath started to crystallize into visible fog from the sudden drop in room temperature. At least they had some sense of self preservation.

“Is that you? Are you coming to speak with us? Uh,” Pidge glanced aside as the footsteps paused at the foot of the stairs. “Which is fine! You can totally-” 

The footsteps were decidedly louder now, with the distinct click of some sort of hard-soled boot. Heel-toe, heel-toe, it would have sounded like tap dancing if they didn’t each land with a weight that sounded too heavy to be human. Something was definitely headed for the dining room, and with purpose.

Lance gripped Hunk’s hand for grounding. _Please be Keith, please be Keith, please be Keith_.

Even Pidge had gone silent then. The room hummed with a sort of energy that made Lance’s ears ring with silent static, putting pressure behind his eyes. They listened as the footsteps approached and stopped right outside the threshold of the dining room. 

Nothing moved. No one breathed. Lance could feel pressure on his shoulders, his face, his entire body - like gravity had increased tenfold. 

“Can you g-” 

Pidge was quickly cut off as every frame hung on the wall lurched off and flung across the room, shattering and raining down glass dust. Pidge screamed, ducking their head down to cover it before their chair was roughly pushed aside. Hunk was up and rushing to them, but he was also shoved, landing near the fireplace with the air punched from his gut. 

Lance scrambled back in his chair, wood scraping against the floor. The pressure made it hard to breathe and he gasped, trying desperately to suck in oxygen and relieve the constriction in his lungs. He felt watched, like a thousand eyes turned on him all at once. He wanted to crawl under the table or sprint for Hunk or make a mad dash out of the house and never come back. Muscles tense and ready to do whatever he decided on, the candles snuffed out. 

The chair splintered apart and he crashed to the ground. Lance opened his mouth to scream and choked. It was like breathing smog, but it smelled putrid. Rotten. Sweet. Wet earth and fungus and decay.

Where was everyone? He couldn’t see. There should still be light coming through the dusty windows but it was pitch black. He needed to crawl, get to either of his friends. They needed to get out. 

Something wrapped around his ankle and dragged him across the floor. He kicked and clawed, trying to escape as splinters dug into his fingernails and burned down his stomach. He hadn’t understood the word terror until this moment. No amount of pain was too much if it meant escape. He dug into the wood harder, a nail bending back and ripping up from its bed as whatever had hold of him yanked. Lance couldn’t comprehend what was happening until his back slammed into a wall, spraying paint chips and drywall from the impact.

His head hit, dull and hollow, fireworks flashing behind his eyes. _Hell was not being able to scream_, he thought, mouth open. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as his mind chanted repentance for all his sins, including stepping foot in this house. A claw tightened around his throat, cutting off all thought along with his breath. It lifted him slow, pressing him into the wall. His feet dangled in the air, trying to run, the last attempts of his body to flee. 

“_LANCE!_”

Just as suddenly as he’d been lifted, Lance was dropped. 

He coughed, looking up through blurry eyes. A few feet in front of him, standing out from the darkness, were two figures. The first was looming and seemed edged in a sickly, acidic green. It was a man, abnormally tall, 7 or 8 feet. His face was nearly nonexistent, marred by an enormous hole exploding in the middle of his head. Beside him, decidedly smaller but glowing much brighter, was...was Keith. It had to be him. The red of him was practically blazing as he snarled and tightened his hands around the green thing’s neck. Keith motioned towards him frantically and Lance didn’t need to read his arm to understand the scream of _RUN! GO!_

Lance didn’t wait. He ran to where Hunk was groaning, thankful he could see in the dim light again. Pidge began to crawl at Hunk’s signal, bolting across the room and falling into Hunk’s arms. Lance grabbed both their hands and pulled them to standing and with a shared look, they ran for it.

The green thing, a warped abomination of the ghost Keith had called Holehead, screeched and howled, lunging after Lance as he left. Keith...well, he didn’t know what he did; he heard himself yelling, roaring almost, and saw the red light licking along his arms, but all he knew was the need to push this fuckhead _back_ and _the hell away from Lance_. 

A long band of green shot out and locked around one of Keith’s arms, wrenching at him to let go, but he all but incinerated it by what he’d come to think of as pushing- just concentrating energy into a specific place. It had never been like this, though. This was all new and he had no idea what he could do or how long he could hold this or if he could win against this thing at all. He didn’t need to win, though; just keep it from getting Lance while he escaped. 

His attention was caught by the door slamming and that half-second distraction was too much. 

He felt something punch through him. The sensation of spiraling out of existence, Keith thought as everything became nothing, was like an imploding star. 

\--

“What the fuck was that?” Hunk wheezed. 

Oh, shit. Lance knew this was bad if Hunk was cursing.

Hunk glared at Lance as he gasped for breath. “And you! I’ve tried to be nice. I’ve tried not to push, but you still won’t eat my cookies. I’m done! I’m done with this project.” He pointed at Pidge. “And I’m done with--” Hunk paused, finger in the air. 

Lance watched him melt. They must look like two chastised kittens soaked from the rain because Hunk sucked in a breath like he was sucking the words back. “Sorry. This is just--” His lip wibbled and Lance pulled him into a hug.

Pidge joined a moment later and they all shook, holding each other up. It was Pidge who broke the silence.

“If you want to quit, I get it.” They pulled back, tawny hair askew, eyes shining. “I think I want to quit, too.”

Lance sat down in the dirt of the dead lawn, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Go on or quit?” 

Lance looked behind him at the closed door. If he lost his friends because he could talk to dead people, then, well they weren’t really his friends in the first place. Not that Hunk and Pidge would judge him like that. It was his insecurity talking, but that didn’t make it any less scary. Lance made his decision; he’d risk it and tell them. “I can talk to Keith, the ghost. That’s who saved me, _us_, back there.”

Lance held out his arms, explaining. Ever since earlier that day his arms were blank, but he could still feel the tide of emotions that were Keith. He told them an annotated version of the past few weeks and answered their questions as best he could. He stared at the ground the whole time, too scared to look up. Lance’s fingertips pulsed with pain and his throat burned, but he _needed_ to tell someone. He needed to tell _them_.

“Well that explains how weird you’ve been acting,” Pidge said, head on his shoulder. They’d sat down during his explanation and looked about ready to pass out. 

Hunk’s lips were pressed in a line and he still stood above them. It was dark outside and the only light this far out was the moon and the very distant glow from the city. From Lance’s perspective Hunk was almost standing in the middle of the waxing moon, his head encircled by its light. “That doesn’t explain everything. Why aren’t you eating?”

“Are you still on about that? Can’t we drop it for one night? I’m on a diet, dude.”

“Yeah, Lance goes on funky diets all the time. Remember when he would only drink those Instagram diet teas and had the shits for weeks?”

Lance wanted to wipe their _shit eating_ grin off their face. He hated that story. Unfortunately it had been Pidge’s favorite ever since he’d gotten a bad bout of diarrhea at their house. 

Hunk looked unconvinced. 

“Seriously, Lance will be on to the next fad before you can say Snapchat. Won’t you?” Pidge nudged him with their elbow.

“Yeah, sure.” He wanted everyone to stop talking about food and his eating habits. He wanted to check on Keith. A ghost couldn’t die, right? Lance bounced his leg. He didn’t like that thought. Before he could follow it further, Lance screamed, doubling over. Pain ricocheted off his nerves, lighting up every ending with pins and needles. 

Hunk was at his side immediately, hovering over him with Pidge. “What’s wrong?”

It felt like someone had ripped out his stomach and used it to make him into Hamburger Helper, but he wasn’t going to tell Hunk that. “It’s Keith. I need to go.” 

“Oh, no you don’t.” Hunk put both large hands on his shoulders, holding him down. “You’re not going back in there. None of us are until we know it’s safe.”

The pain flickered inside him, fading and growing sharp. Lance struggled to push Hunk off of him. He had to _go_. Hunk didn’t budge. 

The familiar tingle of Keith talking to him broke through the haze of pain and he looked down. _Safe_. It was strange, though - more like the hazy, unfocused buzzing he’d gotten when Keith was recharging. Like Keith himself hadn’t actively written it. That was even more concerning. 

Pidge grabbed his arm, tracing the letters with their finger. “You weren't lying.”

“Duh.” He didn’t like sharing Keith with them. This was his secret and Keith’s words were personal since they were written in his skin. He wanted to keep each inscription to himself, but now was not the time to worry about being petty or possessive. “I need to go back inside and check on him.”

“Not until I put some antiseptic on you. You’re in shreds.” Hunk gingerly pressed a thumb on Lance’s cheek where a scratch dotted red blood down the side of it, and lifted his hand to get a look at his ripped fingernail. 

Lance hissed, pulling back. Every inch of him wanted to run back inside and find Keith, but the longer he sat there the more pain creeped into his consciousness. “Fine, but hurry.”

Pidge entered the house first, peeking around the door frame. They hadn’t seen anything during the fight so it wasn’t like they could actually see something if it was there, but they’d also refused to let Lance go first. “All clear.” They stepped through and held the door open. 

Hunk had Lance sit on the floor while he rifled through his bag. He pulled out a red and white box with a little plus on it. “Good thing I didn’t just rely on baking.” He sat down next to Lance and sprayed antiseptic on all his scratches. It burned.

Taking out the bandages, Hunk wrapped each of Lance’s fingers, being extra careful of the broken nail. A few more ointments and Lance was as patched up as Hunk could get him.

Lance held up his bandaged fingers. “You did it. _Now_ can I go, please?” 

Hunk nodded and Lance didn’t wait for him to change his mind. He got up and called out over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He sprinted upstairs, jumping over the second step and skidding to a halt in front of Keith’s room. He’d left Keith downstairs, yet somehow he knew that Keith wasn’t there anymore. He was here.

Lance opened the door and froze. 

Keith was there alright - lying right on his bed as if he were napping, and Lance could see it clear as day. 

He looked exactly like his picture. It could have been the next day, even. His hair was jet black, disheveled and long, falling into his face to brush against long lashes. He was in a black t-shirt, black jeans that cut off around his calves and had a red plaid flannel tied around his waist. One hand was resting on his stomach and the other dropped listlessly over the side of the bed. He didn’t even look like he’d died in the 90's. He didn’t look like he’d died at all. 

Lance took a tentative step inside, and then sucked in a breath. A gaping hole where Keith’s stomach should’ve been blinked out of existence. There was no gore or spray of blood. One moment all of Keith was there, the next he had no stomach. There were also not-wounds on his arms and legs. It was like he was being pulled into oblivion, chunks at a time. 

_What to do what to do what to do? _

Keith flickered like a screen with a loose connection. Lance was scared that soon all of Keith would fizzle away. Gone, _forever_. Static hissed across his arms instead of words, creating goosebumps. Keith was in bad shape and it was all _his_ fault. 

He should’ve known. He should’ve stopped it. Lance wasn’t sure if tears were blurring his vision or if Keith, himself, was becoming blurry. He had to do something. _Now_.

The first aid kit! Lance skidded out of Keith’s room and took two stairs at a time down to the first floor. He crashed into a wall and pushed off. Without stopping, he grabbed the kit Hunk had just been using on him, saying a silent prayer of thanks to Hunk’s mom-friend-ness. Hunk and Pidge were no where in sight as he turned and ran back up. He was already messing with the box as he sank to his knees next to Keith’s bed. Keith was worse than he’d left him.

Lance’s hands shook, fumbling with the latch. It took him three times before it popped open. He had no idea what he was doing, there was no way any of these things could help. He pulled out a band-aid and ripped it open. He could see Keith so maybe…The band-aid fell to the sheets, sticking. 

Ah! He was so dumb, of course he couldn’t save Keith. Keith was _dead_. Tears welled in his eyes and fell hot down his cheeks. If he could just _fix_ him, Lance swore to himself, then he’d never leave Keith alone. He’d come back as often as he could to make sure Keith was safe. There were obviously very dangerous things here.

He pulled out a numbing spray and threw it behind him. No. No. **No.** None of this would work. “Piece of shit!” He threw the box at the wall. 

The box hit and fell, breaking apart, revealing a hidden compartment under the main shelf. Lance scrambled forward on his hands and knees. Sage? He picked through the pile. There was a satchel of something that smelled like...licorice? He pulled out a handful of star-shaped something or other. 

“Uh,” he said nervously, bouncing them in his palm before laying them on Keith’s chest. Of course they went right through, which was weird as hell because he didn’t look like a ghost - not blue, not see-through, he looked as real as Hunk and Pidge. What parts of him were still there, anyway. He did seem to fizzle less, though. Okay. Good. What else. 

Sage? Did he light sage? No, that was for getting _rid_ of spirits right? What was this? Lavender? He threw that on Keith too. 

At the bottom of the bag was a little orange rock, like the inside of the peach. He held that up to Keith. He fritzed once, then twice, then sat straight up, wide eyed and gasping in complete silence. Lance screamed as he watched his arm disappear into Keith’s chest. 

He snatched his arm back, fingers clutching the rock. Keith was moving his mouth, like he was talking. The sensation of words appearing along his skin felt almost welcome in the midst of everything. 

His head bent automatically to see what Keith was saying, but his eyes wouldn't leave Keith's face. Lance couldn’t get over the fact that he was almost exactly like his pictures, only more vibrant. He looked… _alive._

Lance reached out a tentative hand. He looked so real, so solid. He stopped before his fingers could pass through and break the illusion. "Hey, easy. You hurt?" 

Keith glanced down at his fingers, then back up at Lance, meeting his eyes with widening realization. “You’re looking at me,” he said dumbly. “Like, _at_ me. Holy shit, you can _see_ me!” And though he had about a thousand other things to be concerned about right then, Keith knew his face was torn between a crooked grin and dumbstruck awe. 

Lance sighed with relief. “You’re smiling so I’ll take that as you're fine.” 

He'd been running on adrenaline and fear for far too long. As the relief settled around him, it brought exhaustion with it. He sat back with a thump, letting gravity do all the work. “Don’t scare me like that, I was so worried.” Keith was still smiling and talking; it was contagious. He pried his eyes away long enough to see a few of his words fly by. “Sheesh, slow down. I can’t hear you. But, yeah, I can see you,” he said, grinning up.

Something really bad and crazy had happened, and they were going to address it, sure, but - 

Keith’s smile widened. “Hi.” 

Lance hid behind his hand, resting his elbow on his knee. The heat of his blush burnt across his face and down his chest. “Hi.” He coughed. “You look…good. You’re right, not blue at all.”

“You didn’t believe me?” Keith snorted, and then winced. “Ow.” Wait, ow? When was the last time he’d felt pain? Keith frowned and looked down at himself. No, not...pain, not exactly, but like his battery was almost dead and every effort made a burst of static ripple through him. 

He twisted around and looked behind him at the potpourri and rocks Lance had evidently been throwing at him. “What...happened?” When he turned back to Lance, he seemed to notice the bandages for the first time and reached out as if to check them over himself. “You’re hurt!”

"I'm fine." Lance held out his hand for inspection. "I'm more worried about you. I didn't think Pidge’s little show would summon a real demon." 

Keith did inspect Lance’s hands as he distractedly said, “It wasn’t a demon. It was Holehead. But like...not? He didn’t look human anymore and he always did before now. I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know if I won or if he’s gone or how I got here. I was just holding him off until I heard the door close and then...I woke up when you threw sticks at me.”

"Holehead?" Lance was sure what he saw was not the ghost of a human. Keith looked exactly like his pictures. That had been a monster. "You said Holehead was creepy looking, not an evil 7 foot poltergeist. Plus no one's attacked us except…" _You_ was left unsaid. "The point is," Lance started over, "Why would he attack us, now? We've been here for weeks." 

“Yeah, exactly,” Keith said, choosing like Lance to skip over the uncomfortable implication of his silent words. “I’ve seen him around, sure, but never like that and it was absolutely him. It’s like...okay, so, as far as I’ve figured out, ghosts have a...uh. A frequency, I guess. It’s like a pattern unique to them, and I can tell when someone else is around even if I can’t see them because I can feel it. But something was really messing with his. I don’t know what caused it, though.” He also couldn’t voice aloud the idea that if it had happened to Holehead, what was to say it wouldn’t happen to Keith too? “It was...pretty terrifying.” 

“Yeah, it was…” Lance said, distracted. Different frequencies? A pattern…His memories were a blur. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture the brief flash of Keith telling him to run. 

In that moment they'd both been glowing, right? It wasn’t there now, obviously, but before--

“Is that why Holehead was a different color?”

Keith blinked. “A different color? Than what?” 

"Than you. Your…" He twirled his hands in the air looking for the word. He settled on, "Ghost color." 

“You could see that? I didn’t even realize you could see me at the time. I mean, I yelled at you, but I thought…” Keith shook his head. “I dunno, this is all way beyond anything I’ve experienced since, you know, dying. I’ve never been red before?” he added, almost helplessly. Then something else occurred to him and he looked down at his arm, tucking his hair behind his ear as he thought to himself. “...Oh my god, I wonder if I can shoot stuff. Like lasers.”

Entranced, Lance watched emotions play across Keith’s face. _Watched, with his eyes._ It was wild. In the back of his mind he linked the facial expressions with the buzzing and humming that he’d grown to associate with Keith. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged against his mouth. Keith was cute. 

Or not. He wrinkled his nose.

Keith had been talking for a while and Lance hadn’t said anything. Both of those occurrences were unusual enough that Keith glanced up, just to be met by a Lance who looked like he’d just sucked a lemon. Keith frowned. “What?”

Lance shook his head. “It’s just.” He gestured to Keith’s....everything. Mostly his hair. “I thought you died in the 90’s, why do you have a mullet?”

Keith’s hand flew up to his hair indignantly and he scowled. “It’s not a _mullet_, asshole - I like it long and it just grows that way!” 

“Then I hate to break it to you, but it grows into a mullet. Rough afterlife facts, buddy.” This was kinda fun, more fun than talking to faceless words. He could set up his arm like subtitles as he watched Keith. Thank God for years of anime preparing him for this moment.

“A mullet,” Keith said with false patience, “is intentionally cut in the back so that some is shorter. I know this, because Shiro had one as a kid. _My_ hair, on the other hand, is all one length. It isn’t that difficult to c-” He felt the feedback ripple all the way up, knowing he’d probably flickered or something from Lance’s point of view. “Ugh. We can fight about it when I’m not running on empty.” 

That snapped Lance back into worry-mode. “How can I help?” He crawled onto the bed, sitting next to Keith. “I got more rocks I could throw on you.”

Keith chuckled at that as he reached around to pick up one of the throwing star things, but it quickly slipped through him and landed somewhere below his lap as he lost the energy. “Yeah, what is all this stuff anyway? What did you even do?”

“Band-aids weren't working and there were these herbs and rocks in the first aid kit so I kinda…” Lance shrugged. “Threw them at you. I’m sorry I’m not trained in Netherworld CPR.”

“Wait, back up - did you actually try a Band-aid? On _me?_”

“You were dying! Again!” Like the tide, Lance’s emotions swelled. They’d receded for a moment to make way for the awe of being able to see Keith, but now they were back. They rushed forward, propelled by images of Keith laying on the bed glitching. He didn’t like thinking about how Keith might’ve glitch out of existence forever. “It wasn’t right. I had to do _something_, even if it was a _dumb something_.”

The half-panic look wasn’t what Keith expected and it had him reaching up to cup Lance’s cheek without thinking - not knowing what to do, exactly, just that this boy whose every emotion was magnified by about a thousand needed to be comforted. He couldn’t touch or feel but he could try to make it a little bit warm. “Aw, Lance, I’m fine. I promise I’m fine, just tired. I’m like a battery, just need to recharge. Okay? You made sure of that.”

Lance always knew in the back of his head that the warmth was Keith touching him or his ghostly aura. It was different when he could _see_ him. See the emotions written across his mute face and see the hand that caressed his cheek. It was _real_ in a way that it wasn’t before. “Just, don’t do that again, okay? Promise me.”

Keith shrugged and gave a helpless smile. “I can’t make promises if you keep pissing off dead people.”

Shit. Keith was right. As long as they were there disturbing the residents, they were putting him in danger. That is, if Keith kept trying to jump in and save them, and it didn't sound like he was going to stop. He'd have to solve this on his own. "You won't have to again, I'll make sure of it." Lance blinked up through the tears clinging to his lashes. "I wish I could hug you." 

“Don’t cry,” Keith said, softening his expression to make up for the murmur Lance couldn’t hear. “Please don’t cry. It’s okay, okay? Just gotta be careful and I’ll keep a better eye out and everything’s going to be okay.” He’d never regretted being dead so much before. It seemed like the most important thing right now to grant Lance’s wish, and the knowledge that he couldn’t even do that for him was numbing. 

Lance shook his head, wiping his eyes with his palms. "I'm sorry. Ignore me." He smiled to try and reassure Keith. "Why don't you recharge? I'll stay here till you wake up." 

“You’re hard to ignore with that big mouth of yours,” Keith said, putting the smile into his eyes. “I won’t be here while I do, so go check on your friends, okay? I’ll let you know the minute I’m back.” 

Won't be here? Lance figured he slept in his bed, or floated above it, not exited their plane of existence. He wanted to see what it looked like. "Are you sure? How do you know that you disappear?" 

Keith shrugged. “I guess I don’t, but it’s...like being in a glass room kinda? I’ll describe it better when we can talk, okay? I’ll be back, but I can’t...I gotta…” Still holding the same small apologetic smile that was mostly in the crinkle of his eyes, Keith mustered every last iota of strength he had to brush the one tear Lance had missed with his thumb. Then, utterly depleted, he let go. 

Light sparked, showering Lance in beads of fading light. They flickered like fireflies all around him. He held out his hand and they passed through. Lance's stomach felt full of those ghostly lights.

He didn't want to think about what that meant. 

"Goodnight," he whispered. 

\--- 

So ghosts do dream, and as it turns out, when they go into absolute recharge (as Keith liked to call it), things got real. 

Like, feels-like-reality real in a way he hadn’t experienced for a while. 

He was still in the house, but as he’d tried to explain to Lance, usually he was present but separate from the other residents. He could sort of see them, but he knew without trying that they wouldn’t be able to interact - like pressing your palm against soundproof glass and screaming. Usually he sat on his bed, because time didn’t function the same way it did when he was regular dead, which in itself was different from how it worked when he’d been alive. He sort of...existed, until he was pulled back up from one plane to another. It just sort of was, and he hadn’t questioned it. He didn’t often need to experience it, either, since until recently he hadn’t really had a reason to use much of his energy. 

This time, however, he could move into and out of other levels of the same reality, like walking through a wall of water. So he walked, or warped, or whatever he was doing until he heard humming. 

With nothing else to do, he followed the sound down the same hallway. As he walked, he watched the furniture and decor jump around to various different points in time as he phased from one person’s plane to another’s. The wallpaper went from beige to green to blue to tan and back, pictures appearing and disappearing off the walls as he walked. A thousand lifetimes later, he was standing in the kitchen. 

It wasn’t his kitchen - well, it _was_ but not the way it had been in his time. It was much older, with a brick oven and an open fireplace where a kettle was just beginning to hiss. It smelled amazing, like...peaches, maybe, and cinnamon and nutmeg. Like Fall, and warm bread. And in the middle of the room, hands covered in flour while she measured sugar from a jar, was a round, red-cheeked woman. 

She looked up at him, face red and sweaty with heat, brown wisps of hair sticking to her neck and forehead. She cracked a smile and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. 

“Certainly took you long enough, lad. Coming in? You can at least be useful if you’re otherwise going to sit around gathering wool.” 

Keith paused, wondering for a minute if she really was talking to him. “Uh….me? You can see me? You’re talking to me.” It was more a statement than a question. 

“Who else? The Queen? Come on, then, let’s put you to work.” 

Of all the bizarre things that had happened to Keith in the last couple of weeks, this ranked waaaayy up there. He hadn’t yet been able to speak to another occupant of the house, but now it occurred to him that maybe he could and they really had just been ignoring him this whole time. Or was it his new ghost superpowers? Either way, here he was in the afterlife, and a lady that looked like a female Tom Hanks in farmgirl clothes was beckoning him over to knead dough on a kitchen table that was and was not his own. 

“So...hi,” he started. “I’m Keith.”

Her eyes crinkled nicely when she smiled. “Hattie. Dust your hands in the flour first - there you go. Now push out...like that, yes, and pull back. Good. Flip it. Do it again.”

Keith did as instructed because why the hell not. It felt good to touch something again and beating the shit out of bread was as therapeutic as it got, turns out. 

“You’ll be wondering what all that mess was, I’m sure,” Hattie said conversationally. Keith glanced up at her and realized she was about an inch or two taller than him. Like everyone else, apparently. 

“Yeah.” Push. Pull. Flip. Repeat. “Yeah, that was sure new. What happened to Holehead?”

Hattie chuckled deep in her belly at that one, and the sound was comforting. “He’ll not like to know that’s what you call him, but it sure suits the man. Grumpy bugger. Never a word for anyone else - though, suppose that’s how he got here in the first place, ay?” 

“Yeah…” Keith frowned at his bread. “But I guess...I guess that’s what happened to me too.”

Hattie didn’t look at him as she sprinkled more flour on the table. “Is it now.”

“That’s what my fr...that’s what I’ve been told.” 

“Your friend. Don’t be afraid to call him such,” Hattie said firmly. “That’s part of the reason you did what you did.”

Keith thought he’d just about pummeled the shit out of his dough ball, and evidently he had, since Hattie took it and gave him a brand new one to start on. “Well...yeah. It was attacking them. Him. I wasn’t just going to sit on my ass and do-ow! What the fu-OW! Stop it!”

Hattie looked at him meaningfully and raised her hand to give his head another smack. “None of that language.”

Keith glared at her and reached up to brush the flour from his hair. “Okay. _Fine,_” he said through gritted teeth. “I had to do something. So I just...rushed him, I guess. And tried to hold on.”

Humming as she processed this, Hattie set her dough aside and went to the fireplace to retrieve the kettle, which was starting to rattle from boiling. Keith watched her lift it with a towel and bring it back to the table where there were suddenly two earthenware mugs. The steam as she poured water into them felt amazing on his face, and he savored the pure physicality of it. When she had returned the kettle, she pushed a mug towards him and nodded at it.

“Drink. It will do you good and move you along quicker. You’ve got to get back to that boy.” 

Keith had been about to take a sip, but he looked up at her now. “Lance? Why? Is he okay?”

Shaking her head sent a few more curls of hair falling from her loose cap. “What you’re fighting now, lad, isn’t someone who died in this house. It’s something else - something that the house, steeped in death as it is, has never seen before. Something dark. And it will keep on corrupting everything around it until it’s put down.” 

“What?” Keith coughed as his tea burnt his mouth, half from heat and half from the bitterness of its taste, like charbroiled dirt. “What do you mean, dark? Like, what, demon dark? Did they actually summon something with their dumb ritual thing?”

“No, it was here before all that.” Hattie sank heavily into one of the little stools by the fireplace and Keith joined her, feeling the warmth flicker along his right side. “Something woke it up, but it’s been here a while yet.” She looked at him pointedly. “The day you got here, in fact.”

“...Like, when I moved in?”

“No, lad.” Hattie gestured around them. “When you got _here._”

Keith processed that and looked up at her, feeling small next to her warmth and size. “The day I died? I died, and something _dark_ showed up here? Why?”

Hattie shook her head again. “I couldn’t tell you, love. Or rather, if you want to be rid of it, I _can’t_ tell you. You’ll have to do it on your own. But listen well, because I can tell you this-” She leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy and the most visceral thing Keith had felt in a long time. “You’re the only one of us, all of us, who got here like you did.” 

Keith searched her face, eyes darting back and forth over it. “Wh...what, what does that…” In that moment, he felt a sort of tugging in his belly - a pull that signaled he was going to shift planes whether he was ready to or not. “Wait, what does that mean?! What do I do?!”

Hattie smiled, but this time it was sad. “Find the truth, lad, and save that boy.”

Before he could open his mouth to reply, everything was gone. 

\--

Lance pulled the sheet closer. It was dusty two days ago and made him sneeze the whole night. Since then, he’d taken all of Keith’s bed clothes home and washed them. He thought they’d be a lot grosser and almost brought some from home to replace them, but things must’ve been higher quality in Keith’s day. These sheets were in better shape than his own. 

He groaned. Lance clutched his stomach through a wave of nausea and squeezed his eyes closed as the bed shifted beneath him. The world spun. He hadn’t been able to keep anything down except water for the past couple days. He didn’t have the energy to do anything besides lay in bed. The sicker he got, the stronger the pull to this house became. Which was why this was day three of sleeping in Keith’s bed. 

It was also day three of Keith gone. 

He reached for his phone, but didn’t have the energy to pick it up. Lance tapped the screen until it opened and clicked on Spotify. Call him dumb, but he’d made a playlist for Keith. Not _for_ Keith. He wasn’t over here making mix tapes for a ghost. It just helped the pain. He pushed play and _Nirvana - Unplugged in New York_ drifted softly from his phone. It wasn’t Keith, but it calmed his nerves enough that the waves of nausea were held at bay. 

Lance had no idea how he knew Keith would help. It wasn’t logic that he was running on. It was just that every time he was away from this house, and this room, and even this bed, he felt like he was dying. When he was here, though, it wasn’t as bad. He could think through the pain and even fall asleep. Sleep sounded nice. The first chords of “Pennyroyal Tea” strummed across Cobain’s guitar as Lance’s eyes fluttered shut.

Keith awoke in his bed right as Lance was preparing to sleep in it. For a moment, he was awash with weird, curious buzzing and fullness and he definitely heard Nirvana, and that was when he realized he wasn’t alone. Not only was he not alone in bed, Lance was laying there with him and they were, in fact, occupying the same physical space. 

“Whoa!” Keith shot up and tumbled over the edge of the bed to his feet, looking back down at the fetal blue ball that was Lance. “Lance? What are you doing here?” _In my bed_, he thought. _By yourself? _“Where are the others?” 

The pain was gone. Lance sat up, stretching like a cat. "You're back." It felt so good to feel normal that he couldn’t contain his smile as he looked down at Keith. He didn't care about much at the moment except that the suffering had abated. "I think they're in class, but I'm not sure what time it is." 

Frowning, Keith spent a confused moment reconciling the things Hattie had told him with the immediate reality of seeing Lance in front of him. In his bed. Sleep-tousled and rubbing at his eyes and smiling. Keith swallowed on air. 

“Yeah...I can’t help you with that one,” he admitted, sitting back down now that the panic of being literally in and on top of Lance had calmed...somewhat. “That doesn’t answer my other question. Why are you here? Alone?”

Lance blinked at his phone, 5 PM. Ugh, he had napped way too long. Not to mention the battery was dying and Keith was still looking at him for an answer. The real reason was too stupid. Who would believe that he only felt better when laying in some dead dude’s room? “I was doing project stuff and fell asleep. Sorry about that. I’ll get out of your ghost hair.”

“No!” Keith yelled, lunging forward, and realized that probably looked desperate and weird and threatening, so he shook his head and tried for a smile. “No, I mean, it’s totally cool, I don’t care and I’m glad you’re here. I was just...curious.” Without thinking, he tried to play with the corner of the sheets before remembering he was dead, and if he really wanted to do that, he’d have to actively try. “...Did you wash my sheets?”

"The dust was making me sneeze." The muscles in Lance’s back and neck that had been pinched tight in Keith’s absence relaxed. He could feel it as Keith got closer. All he wanted to do was lean on him, but that was obviously impossible. He settled for leaning closer. "I had to run them through, like, three times. 

For whatever reason, the idea of Lance stealing a dead boy’s sheets (too dusty) to wash so that he could bring them back to the abandoned haunted house (_extremely_ dusty) to sleep in struck him as hilarious. He laughed and shook his head again, looking at Lance like he just couldn’t believe he was an actual person who did things like that. “Sorry? For the mess? If I had known I had someone coming over, I could have possessed the vacuum.” 

Lance crossed his arms and pouted. "Don't laugh at me. I couldn't help it. If you'd been me that first night, waking yourself up sneezing, you would've done the same thing." 

Keith’s grin got a little puzzled. “The first night? How long have you been here?”

Oh, shit. He didn't mean to let that slip. If only his brain wasn't scrambled eggs he might've been able to save face. “I didn't mean-- I'm sorry, it's just--" He fished for an excuse. Any excuse that'd make him not look creepy or crazy. He slumped, pulling at his phone case. Lance bent the corner off with a click and back on with a snap, then off and on again. "Yeah. This is day three. I'm sorry." 

“Lance…” For lack of anything better to say, Keith breathed out his name. Whatever dead people physics that allowed him to lift objects but not touch a person could go straight to hell because he’d give anything to reach out and touch Lance right now. He did the next best thing that he’d figured out and cupped his cheek, suffusing it with warmth. “Hey, I don’t care. Actually, I _like_ having you around, okay? You’re welcome to my room any time - dusty sheets and all.” Something was up - like, really bothering Lance. He looked like hell, but Keith didn’t know how to bring that up gently. His eyes were sunken and his skin looked pallid and it worried Keith that Lance was here without his friends. Lance was being squirrely enough, but Keith had to ask. “...You feeling okay?”

Lance melted. Physically became a puddle of goo at Keith’s touch. At least, that’s what it felt like. Every muscle in his body loosened and the knot in his stomach unraveled. The rush of relief caught him so off guard that he didn’t realize he’d leaned halfway inside Keith until it was too late. He pulled away with a mumbled, “Sorry.” What was wrong with him? “I don’t know what’s wrong,” he answered himself out loud.

Now, more worried than ever, Keith frowned and tried to catalog what other physical signs of Lance’s illness he could find. This was extremely hard without being able to feel for fevers or clamminess or anything at all, goddammit. 

“Stop apologizing,” Keith commanded. “Tell me what’s going on?” 

"I'm just feeling sick. It's probably a stomach bug. Nothing major." Lance shot him weak finger guns. "Don't worry, I'm sure it can't infect the dead." 

Irritated and impatient with all this stupid deflection, Keith scoffed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t a moron. He knew he wasn’t getting anywhere near the whole truth from Lance, but “a dead baker said something bad is happening to you because I died” would probably be a difficult topic for him to broach on a good day. “Fine. Whatever.” 

Lance watched Keith chew his lip. He wished he could give Keith more, but he didn't understand it himself. He flopped back onto the bed, holding out his arms. "I _can_ say that whatever's wrong with me feels better now." He made little _come here_ motions with his hands for Keith to lay down. "When I was here before it was a little better, but as soon as you came back, I felt like a million bucks. Maybe ghosts have secret healing powers on humans."

Aaaaaannndd well, there went the annoyance about as quickly as it had flared up. Sighing through his nose, Keith lay down next to Lance, knowing by instinct that Lance would want him to do the personal furnace thing. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that when Keith made himself warm, Lance was like a cat in a sunbeam. He propped himself up on one elbow, cheek resting in his palm, and reached out to hover a hand over Lance’s belly, putting out what warmth he could. “Maybe? Does that help?”

Lance was a spider’s web full of holes strung to the breaking point and Keith’s warmth was filling those holes with light. He felt like himself again. His jaw unclenched as his fingers loosened and his hips sank into the mattress. Lance groaned. “S’nice.” He blinked up at Keith, smiling. “Thanks.”

Keith quirked a little smile back down at him. “No problem. Least I can do for you for washing my sheets.” 

“You’re welcome.” He gestured to the rest of the room. “Since I’m here so much now, I should clean the rest of your room. This place is nasty.”

Laughing, Keith discovered, resulted in little pulses of extra warmth from his hand. Huh. “Be my guest. For all I know, mom left all the cleaning supplies in the bathroom.”

That, the mention of the life he’d had, the fact that he’d lived and died here, that he honestly had no idea how it had happened or what had become of his family...he pursed his lips. “...Hey, Lance?”

"Hm?" 

Quietly, feeling small and distant but just really needing to know, Keith hesitated. Opened his mouth. Stopped. Took a phantom breath and tried again. 

“Will you...tell me how I died?”

Lance tensed. Every time someone broached the topic of Keith's death, bad things had happened. They happened specifically to Lance. He remembered the way Keith's words sliced through his skin and rubbed his arm absentmindedly. "I dunno if that's a good idea." The words that ran across his arms now were soft caresses and he didn't want that to change. He'd already been in so much pain. 

Keith looked at him earnestly. “I’m not going to freak out, I promise. I need to hear everything you know.” He put his hand over Lance’s. “Please?” 

Lance nodded, still unsure. "I'm stopping if I feel you start losing control." He took a deep breath and began, "There isn't much out there on you. All I could find was a newspaper article. It said you committed suicide." Lance paused, looking up at Keith to judge his reaction. 

It’s what Keith had expected to hear, and he still had to fight down the pulse of confusion and panic. Somehow, the way they’d tiptoed around it, something he vaguely remembered Pidge saying before the blackout...he knew it was what Lance would say. And just as much as he’d expected it, he knew without a doubt it wasn’t true. 

“I know you won’t believe me, but...that’s not true.” Keith met Lance’s eyes, pleading without being able to make a sound. “I wouldn’t...I _know_ I would never do that. I didn’t have any reason to! I mean, I wasn’t super outgoing or anything but I wasn’t, you know, hopeless. I’d never do that to my mom, or to Shiro. Never.” It had started to get hard to meet the open ocean of Lance’s gaze, but Keith willed himself to hold it.

No cutting words or freak outs. Keith’s words felt like cold static, but it wasn't uncomfortable. 

Lance let out a breath. "I think I believe you." He wished he could hear him. This was such a personal conversation to have through skin subtitles. "You should know, though, that they said you locked yourself in the garage and suffocated. Maybe it was an accident?"

Keith considered this. Thought back to the - the - ghost dreams, or whatever they were, that he’d had. Something about fire. Burning. Metal. “I remember fire. I think…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I was _on_ fire. But if it was an accident, why did they say I killed myself? It’s not like I left a note or anything.” He looked up again, feeling helpless and confused. He had a lot of ground to cover, but it was hard to think about all of it logically when the fear was still snapping and crackling inside him like a jar of lightning. 

"Yeah, that, uh…" Lance sighed and sat up. He put his hands on Keith, well, _through_ Keith and onto the bed, but it was as close as he could get. "Okay, please try and stay calm. So what it said _exactly_ was that you locked yourself in the garage and ran your bike. The bike overheated and because of all the oil on the floor it lit on fire, but the autopsy said the cause of death was suffocation by carbon monoxide. Your dad tried to save you, but you'd jammed the door and…" Lance trailed off at the look on Keith's face. 

He had to take a few minutes to fight himself back, to keep cool for Lance’s sake. It was a tough mental image to swallow. 

“My dad?” Keith frowned. “Oh, you mean Ryou? But he wasn’t…”

Keith hadn’t thought he could be affected much by temperature as a ghost, but he suddenly went very cold. 

“Lance,” he said, stern, even. “...Can you tell me how some of the other people in this house died?”

"What does that--" Lance clamped his mouth shut as he rode Keith's emotions as best he could. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want." He could feel the rage hiding behind the chill. There was no way he was going to let the rage get out again. If talking about the other deaths was what Keith wanted, that's what he'd get. Lance went through the various deaths in the house that ranged from suicide to passing away in their sleep. 

“...and like two or three in childbirth.”

Keith listened. Cataloged. Every tick mark made his suspicion grow. 

Something bad had been created, summoned, unleashed here the day he died. 

And what could possibly be worse…

Keith’s impassive face was drilling icicles into the blanket by the time Lance finished. “And that’s all of them? You’re sure?”

"All of the ones on record, yeah. I, okay, _Pidge_ was very thorough." 

It was hazy...but for the first time since his death, a new piece of his Keith’s dream-memory had begun to take form.

Oil. Leather. Smoke. 

His own charring, blistered hands. Clawing at the ground as he screamed until his throat caught fire too. 

And through the flames, flickering in the shadow-play between, a figure. Another person. 

Watching him burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super spoopy thanks to Mintusti and Nikole for being fantastic betas  
[Did you remember to check out the super cool art for this fic???!!!](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd/status/1181586952287653888?s=20) Thank you Pickles for such a beautiful fic cover!
> 
> Sail: Nice to see you back, handsome ;) Chapter 3 is a Big Boi yikes, I'm glad you made it all the way here \o\ I'm super looking forward to all your comments, this is the most fun I've had writing a fic in a long time! Also, remember to subscribe for updates on this fic so you don't miss a chapter.
> 
> Autumn: What Sail said.
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: look, before you @ me, I legitimately, unironically love Mothman Prophecies. (Sail writes more useful notes than I do, but also - thank you so much for the support so far. We really hope you keep enjoying!) 
> 
> Sail: Remember when I said stuff was going to get worse before it got better? we're getting to the worse, but first some cute! We always give you a little of both :3c

Mop, bucket, a trunkload of water jugs, a handful of rags, and all the cleaning bottles from under his sink were unloaded and clumped in a haphazard pile in Keith’s room. For once, Lance was here early in the day and the sunlight streamed through the window in hazy beams.

“You weren't kidding about cleaning, were you?” Keith hovered over the pile, examining some of the labels. Brand logos really had changed over the years. 

Lance tied a scarf around his head to protect his hair from the dust as he read his arm. He was wearing some old clothes from the very back of his dresser, all ripped and splotched and dotted with holes. He looked like a painter down on his luck, but there was no way he was getting his nice clothes dirty. “I know you left your nose back in the 90’s, but my nose can’t handle all this dust. I’m popping Zyrtec like candy.”

“Zyrtec?” Keith moved so Lance could get at the supplies. Not that he needed to. Lance could pass through him, but it still felt weird.

“Allergy meds.” Lance dumped a jug of water into the bucket and added some floor cleaner that smelled atrociously like lemons. “Wait. I should sweep first, dammit.” He looked around the room for anything that could help. “Do you still have a broom around here?”

“Uh.” Keith thought back, and realized a little guiltily that he couldn’t recall helping with that particular chore. “Probably in the...broom closet? Where the brooms live?”

Lance gave Keith a longsuffering look. “Ah yes, where your pet brooms live. And where do you keep this closet? The kitchen? The hallway? The bathroom? Work with me here.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith walked through his bedroom door, assuming Lance would follow, and helpfully opened the small cupboard under the stairs to the third level. Sure enough, there were two functional brooms and a vacuum cleaner that was ancient before Keith was born. “Way to rub it in that I never had a dog or anything,” he said snippily as Lance poked his head out. 

“Like I would know if you ever had a dog or not.” Lance pulled one of the brooms from the closet and hit it against the ground. A plume of dust billowed up to attack Lance personally. He sneezed once, twice, three times. “I’m gonna have to--” Sneeze. “Clean the goddamn broom.”

He pulled his scarf around his nose and took the broom outside to give it a few good whacks. The time alone outside gave Lance space to prepare for today. Yeah, he’d planned on cleaning, but he also wanted to confront Keith about his death. He had a few theories. It all depended on if he could get Keith in a calm enough mood to talk about it. Once the the broom stopped sputtering dust, he went inside to fill it back up.

The sun was setting by the time Lance had Keith’s whole room dusted, swept, and mopped. He sat cross legged on the bed as the floor dried. The room smelled of fake lemons, but at least he’d stopped sneezing. 

“I don’t think my room was ever this clean when I was alive,” Keith commented, looking at Lance’s reflection in the polished hardwood floor. “I guess I should say thank you, but the motivations here were clearly selfish.” 

Lance stuck his tongue out. “Clean is clean.”

It’d been about a week since Keith had recovered from the fight with demon-Holehead, which is what Keith and Lance had been calling it until they figured out more about what had happened. Keith had seen him once or twice since, seemingly unaffected and still wandering the house without speaking. In that time, Lance had been essentially living in Keith’s room, since for reasons neither of them could explain, that was about the only time he had any relief from whatever stomach bug he’d gotten. Keith wasn’t about to nag him, since he didn’t honestly want Lance to go. As it was, they’d settled into what had become, impossibly, almost normal - Lance, the one living thing in the house, sharing company with about four dozen ghosts, one of whom liked grunge music and was going to teach him how to skateboard. 

Lance couldn’t put this off much longer. Once they were done skateboarding he was going to ask Keith. They couldn’t keep ignoring the situation forever. The floor looked dry so Lance put a tentative foot down. Dry as a desert. He padded over to his suitcase he’d brought a few nights ago when he’d gone home to do laundry and restock on supplies. “You ready?” He held up his brother’s old skateboard and looked at Keith. “You promised after all.”

Keith grinned. “Yeah, but you’re not going to get far on that rickety old twig. Get mine from my closet. There’s pads there too if you’re worried about scraping up your perfect skin.”

Lance frowned down at the board in his hands. “Yours has been rotting for years, are you sure it's safe?”

Chuckling, Keith stood and crossed over to the closet, shoving his hands in his pockets and still managing to make the closet door open at the same time. It was always fun watching Lance react to his “ghost shenanigans,” as Lance called them. This one earned him an unimpressed eyebrow lift. “It’s fine. I’ve kept an eye on it. I didn’t have much else to use my energy on before you.” 

And it was fine. He couldn’t exactly care for it like he used to, but he’d at least kept the wood and bushings from drying out and made sure the trucks didn’t rust. It wasn’t as if he planned to use it, but it had given him something to do in the first few years as he’d adjusted to being dead. Even the stickers were still pretty bright. 

Okay, so Keith had a point. His board was ten times better than Lance’s brother's Walmart toy board. He knew zero about skateboards but even he could see that. 

Lance picked it up by the nose and hefted it over his shoulder like a battle axe. "Let's do this." The grip tape dug into his skin and it started to slip from his grasp. 

"Uh." Keith channeled his energy to take the board back. "You pick it up like this." He stepped on the tail to lift the board and picked it up by the truck. Interacting with inanimate objects was getting a lot easier. He set the board down. "You try." 

Lance nodded, determined to look cool. He stomped on the tail and the board flipped up, smacking his hand. "Owch! Dammit!" Keith was going to think he was the loser-iest loser. 

"Why don't you just try and stand on it?" Keith cupped Lance's hand, sending warmth into it, a habit they’d developed with how often Lance had his bouts of nausea or pain.

"Thanks." Lance felt over-warm and it wasn't because of Keith's ghost magic. He couldn’t feel Keith in a physical sense, but his body didn't seem to care. Every time Keith rushed to his side, focused and so ready to help, he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered. 

Once the pain was gone, Keith let go and floated back. "Keep one foot on the floor until you feel like you have your balance, then push off." 

Lance did as he was told. The skateboard was extremely slippery, way more wobbly than his brother's. He took a tentative lean, placing more weight on the board. It was now or never. He leaned in and pushed off. 

Two things happened at once: Keith realized that Lance's foot was way too far back and Lance realized that the board was flying into the air as both his legs did their best to follow the skateboard. 

Keith shouted a warning, but it wasn’t as if Lance had time to read the _Look out!_ on his arm. At the same time he yelled, Keith lunged forward and threw his arms out, watching almost in slow motion as Lance fell right through them and backwards, thumping his head against the dresser. 

“Oh, shit,” Keith said helpfully, kneeling by Lance, one hand hovering around him uselessly. “You okay?” 

Lance's pride hurt more than his head, and that was saying something. The pounding at the back of his skull told him he was going to have a nice goose egg. "I think so." He groaned, sitting up. "I don't think I like skateboarding." 

Keith’s hand came to rest on the back of his head, and he did his best to cool the bump off, but the wry twitch of his lips at Lance’s admission was quickly replaced as his expression darkened, turning inward and stormy. 

"Ow. Hey, buddy. Careful with the cold." Lance pulled away, gingerly feeling the back of his head. He looked at his fingers. No blood. That was good. "You okay? I'm fine. I didn't die." He held up his hands to prove his alive-ness. 

Keith grunted in affirmation, realized Lance couldn’t hear it, and nodded, withdrawing his hand and glaring a hole in the floor. 

"Woah, hey." Lance scooted over until he was in front of the Keith. "I can try again. I was only half joking." 

“S’not that,” Keith murmured, turning his head to avoid looking at Lance. 

Lance turned his head upside down and blocked Keith's view of the floor so he'd have no choice but to look at him. "If it's not that, then what?" When Keith tried to look the other way, he swiveled to the other side. "I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me." 

“Lance…”

Lance blocked his way again. And again. 

When Keith stood to get away from Lance and Lance did the same, getting right in his face with that insufferable, goofy smile, Keith blurted out, “It’s stupid that I can’t touch you, okay?! I can pick up the fucking skateboard but I can’t stop you from busting your head? What kind of stupid rules are these, it’s ridiculous, and I just…” Realizing what all he’d just let slip, Keith hunched his shoulders and turned away. 

Lance encircled his arms, gripping his elbows as he stepped into Keith's space. It wasn't really a hug, but it was the best he could do. Most of him was phasing through Keith at awkward places and he hoped that wasn't some kind of ghost faux pas. "Yeah, it sucks. It's unfair and the universe should be punished. Do you want me to punish it for you?" 

Keith backpedaled out of the makeshift embrace and glared at Lance. “I don’t need you to make fun of me for it.” 

Frowning, Lance dropped his arms. "I'm not making fun of you. But, there's also nothing I can really do about it except scream and be mad with you." If Keith wanted to leave he had all the power to phase away, but he was still here and still pouting. "I wish I could touch you, too." 

That was...unexpected. Keith glanced up at Lance through the fringe of his bangs. He hadn’t known Lance for long, but he never seemed like one for lying - not when it came to this kind of thing anyway. “...Yeah?”

"Yeah." This wasn't exactly territory he was ready to dive into. If he could avoid telling Keith _why_ he wanted to touch him, he was going to. "I bet you'd feel better if we cussed out the universe together for doing you and me dirty." 

“Heh.” Keith straightened up and gave Lance a little once-over. “I always took you for the kind of guy who said ‘nuts’ instead of ‘fuck.’”

"Abso-fucking-lutely I am. I'd never say shit like fuck." He winked. 

The tension in him fizzled, and Keith found himself laughing. He shook his head at Lance and picked the skateboard back up, holding it out for him. “You’re such a dweeb.”

"By that, you had better mean ‘super hot and really cool,’" Lance said, taking the board from him. 

“Yeah, you got me.” Keith shrugged. “C’mon, dweeb. Let’s try again.” 

They spent a few hours practicing around the house, moving down to central command so that Lance had more room. By the time they called it quits, Lance could balance on the board and ride himself into walls. 

Lance flopped down onto the floor doing his best impression of a starfish. His chest heaved and he was sweating more then he thought possible from riding a dumb piece of wood. Muscles he didn't even know he had ached. "That's enough for me. I'm done."

Hovering next to Lance as if he were reclining in a lawn chair, Keith shook his head and snorted. “Quitter. Quit now and I won’t go easy on you next time.”

_Now or never,_ Lance told himself again. "I’ll risk it. Hey, I was thinking." He studied Keith's face. The way he smiled down at him and how his hair fell as if it still remembered gravity even though Keith himself was floating. There was a connection that even Lance couldn’t explain and he wanted to help, no matter the cost. "I know you want to think about the whole Shiro thing on your own time, but have you ever thought about going into his room?" 

Keith sank to the floor and stared at him. A shiver, or flicker, or whatever it was for him passed visibly down his form, but he looked thoughtful more than upset. After a minute, he just asked, “What brought that up?” 

"I don't know. I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole thing." Lance shrugged. "I want to help you and what if you're here because you have unfinished business? What if that business is your brother?" He flipped onto his belly, resting his chin on a fist as he looked at Keith. His other arm lay between them so Lance could read. "What if you didn't have to be stuck here anymore?" 

Keith met his eyes and held them. “I don’t feel ‘stuck’. Not anymore.” 

"Yeah, but… I know this is going to sound weird, but I get how much you love your brother. And, I don't want you to go, but I also don't want you to be trapped in this house when we leave." Lance sighed and reached out, putting his hand through Keith's. It just felt like dusty floor, but it was all he could do. "At least see if there's something in there?" 

_When we leave._ It made Keith frown, remembering the endless bleeding of time into itself that had been his existence before Lance. He would be going back to that, wouldn’t he? No more conversations, games, skateboarding, falling asleep to music...Maybe he should at least give it a shot. 

“Alright.” 

Lance sat up and gave Keith a crooked smile. "Don't worry; we'll do this together.”

They abandoned the skateboard and made their way upstairs, stopping in front of Shiro's old room. 

"Do you want to, or me?" Lance asked, nodding at the door. 

“You do it,” Keith mumbled. The door, in that moment, felt like the most terrifying thing in the Red House. 

Lance placed a hand on the doorknob and gave Keith a supportive look before shoving it open.

It was...empty.

A thousand different emotions flitted through Keith and he couldn’t name a single one of them. What had he honestly expected? That everything would be untouched, the way Keith’s room had been? Shiro hadn’t died. Shiro needed his stuff. He was probably out there somewhere now with said stuff - at least some of it anyway. Where were his posters? All the fighter jets he’d so admired? The dorky rock bands he adored? The baseball signed by someone-or-other that Keith had never understood because try as Shiro might, Keith never liked team sports. 

Where was the bed where he had spent so much of his life sniffling into Shiro’s shirt, either because he was hurt, or had been bullied, or his mother was drinking again, or…

He looked aside at Lance. “Sort of expected this.” 

“I’m sorry. I really thought…” Lance turned guilty eyes on Keith. “I’m sorry.” Keith didn’t flicker or seem outwardly upset, he looked mostly sad, but the feedback Lance could feel was tumultuous. If only he could hug him - heck, Lance would settle for any kind of touch. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No.” Keith shook his head, and the emotion that won out was fondness. “I’m glad it’s gone. It means he’s out there somewhere living his life, you know? You said so yourself. He’s out there. That’s...good. That’s plenty.”

Lance smiled, soft and small. “Yeah, it’s good.” He gestured to the door. “Do you want more time in here or are you ready?”

Shaking his head, Keith turned a matching smile to the room. “I’m done. Let’s go get you back on the board. I want to see you learn to stop before you tap out completely.” 

Groaning, Lance dutifully followed Keith back down to central command - not that much filming had happened there for a while now, but still, the name had grown on him. They practiced for a little longer. The whole time Lance was distracted. He was sure Shiro’s room would’ve held some kind of clue. The only option left was to contact the man. 

They kept it up until Lance could stop without running into a wall or jump ship as the board ran into the wall without him. It took longer than it should’ve with Lance’s head out of the game.

Lance completed his third wobbly stop when he yawned.

“Ready for bed?” Keith asked, taking the skateboard and using his power to phase it into the closet. 

“Yeah, I need to sleep off these bruises.” 

“I don’t remember how long bruises take to heal, but I’m pretty sure it's more than one night’s sleep.”

Back in Keith’s dust free room, Lance felt better. Heck, he felt better even though he hadn’t eaten all day. Whenever he got that pounding headache and wave of nausea, Keith would put a hand on him and Lance would feel better. And no, it wasn’t like real touching, but they also didn’t question it. The reality of it, that being with Keith helped in a very tangible way, was something they had evidently decided not to acknowledge. 

Flopping down onto the bed, Lance looked up at Keith. 

“Thanks for the lessons, skater boy. A couple more days, and I’ll be ready for competitions. National television. Skateboard hall of fame.” 

Keith had that particularly smug, sassy look on his face as his mouth opened and closed that meant he was making some kind of smartassed comment. Lance glanced down and rolled his eyes but still chuckled at the stretch of forearm that said _Over my dead body._

“That’s another dollar for the ghost-pun jar, dude.” 

The ripple of vibration along his skin that meant Keith was laughing, warmed Lance into a smile. 

\--

The next day Lance woke up to a dead phone, which meant he really needed to invest in some battery packs. 

After a quick discussion with Keith, they decided he should get some and that they should have a movie night. Last time they had tried to watch a movie on Lance's iPad, it had died after twenty minutes. It very well may have been the result of another unseen resident of Paxton mooching off his electronics, but more likely it was his poor, valiant little iPad’s attempt to stream from out in the middle of bumblefuck, nowhere. 

Lance shut the red door and made his way to the car. Every step away from Keith was pins and needles down his spine. By the time he was driving away, it felt like a nest of snakes had taken up residence in his stomach. 

He was sweating all through the store, a throbbing hum drowning out all sound. Nausea pumped through him, and he wasn’t proud of having to duck into the bathroom twice to dry-heave all of the nothing he’d had to eat that day. Or the night before. He didn’t actually ever eat when he was around Keith which had been a lot recently. Keith kept the hunger as well as the pain away, but that was starting to leave its mark in the real world. Any time he veered near the grocery aisles, his stomach clenched in desperate, empty pain, but the buzzing, endless thunder drum kept chanting _more, yes, more._

Passing the beauty aisle, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrors. His face was blurry. No eyes; no nose. His cheeks were sunken in and skeletal. The only feature on his face was a pinhole where his mouth should've been. He walked faster to get away from it. The faster he walked the faster he could forget. 

He probably shouldn’t have driven home, but he was desperate and gasping for relief from whatever was clawing its way out from his insides. His grip on the steering wheel damn near should have cracked it. 

He really needed to see a doctor. 

_More. _

He should really try to eat. 

_No!_ It hissed.

He couldn’t eat. Then he’d have to track it. Tracking food meant admitting he’d eaten. 

_Yes. Moreyesmore._

He needed to get back to Keith. 

The plastic packaging cracked in his white-knuckled grasp. Only a few more steps and he'd be safe. A few more steps and the voice would fall to a quiet murmur. Lance stumbled over his own feet, crashing to his knees. His teeth slammed together, making his head swim. 

He wanted to lay down in the dirt and give up. Claws wrapped tighter around his heart until Lance couldn't tell his own thoughts from the drone in his head. 

With the effort of Atlas, he rose to his feet and made it to the door. As soon as he stepped through the threshold, the pounding in his head faded. He didn't have enough energy to call out to Keith, but the closer he got to his room, the better he felt. It was like shedding layers of pain. 

He didn’t have to make it all the way. Keith came running through his door and looked at Lance from the top of the landing. “Lance? What’s wr-“ 

Lance stumbled. Keith immediately phased down to the bottom of the stairwell and threw an arm around Lance’s shoulder, resting the other one over Lance’s stomach - not that Lance could feel it. He’d known something was wrong the minute he’d sensed Lance in the driveway but he looked way worse than he ever had before. It’d been a long time since he’d been human, but he was pretty sure a person didn’t lose ten pounds in an hour. Lance looked extremely thin. 

“Okay. You’re okay now, I’ve got you, let’s get upstairs,” Keith kept murmuring as he warmed himself up, knowing Lance couldn’t hear and that he wasn’t looking at his arm, but it spilled out nonetheless. 

Keith’s warmth spread through Lance like quickfire in dry underbrush. Everywhere the warmth touched was like massaging out a Charlie horse and made him want to cry. Lance jerked his head and stared into concerned dark eyes. _I think I'm dying_, is what he wanted to say, but the memory of his face in the mirror stilled his tongue. 

"I need to lay down," is what he said instead.

“Okay. Couple of stairs, c’mon, almost there.” Keith kept murmuring nonsense as he pulsed out warmth, keeping pace with Lance as they took one stair at a time. Keith reached ahead of them to open the door to his room and tug down the quilt on his bed. 

When Lance finally collapsed onto the mattress, Keith made sure he could see his arm when he said, “This is getting worse.”

Lance was too scared of whatever was going on to confront it; all he wanted to do was pretend it wasn't happening. Reality and common sense hadn't ever been his forte. Denial was much more comfortable. “M’fine. Jus' sleepy." 

_More, More, More. _

The drone that was usually kept at bay around Keith finally clawed its way through. Lance gripped his head, digging his nails into the skin of his scalp. This wasn't real. He was _fine._

His stomach lurched. Bile burned the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. Tears watered in his eyes as he lost control of his body. Lance doubled over the edge of the bed and dry heaved, drool and tears falling to the ground. 

“You call this _fine?!_” Keith rubbed Lance’s back even if it only resulted in some heat therapy which, for the first time, didn’t seem to be doing anything to help. He also knew Lance wasn’t looking anywhere near his arm, so he just kept yelling. “This is serious, Lance! It’s getting worse! Why are you being so damn stubborn? Don’t you…”

He trailed off as Lance retched again, the anger overcome by concern and fear. A frustrated growl replaced his words, but he left for the bathroom long enough to come back with Lance’s pink washcloth, soaked and wrung out. Keith helped him wipe his mouth, then folded the cloth on itself and started wiping at his face. “You’re gonna kill me twice, you know that.” 

Lance wanted the bed to swallow him whole and disappear forever. He probably looked so ugly, about as ugly as he felt. Leaning back, he gave in to exhaustion over vanity and let Keith care for him. Which, probably wasn't fair. Keith was the dead one, after all. Still, it was nice, like finding solid ground when he was drowning. "Sorry," Lance whispered, voice hoarse from bile. 

Keith motioned to the arm Lance was resting over his eyes so that he could see both Keith’s words and his pointed expression as he said, “Promise to go to the doctor.” 

A doctor? Lance couldn’t imagine explaining to some doctor that he was hearing voices in his head that didn't let him eat. Telling them that he was hallucinating in mirrors and throwing up nothing unless he was around some edgelord ghost. Yeah, that was going to go over well. They were going to lock him up. 

He could feel himself spiraling into his own head. Lance blinked, trying to bring himself back to reality. Keith's eyes came into focus first, then his mouth and finally Keith himself. Cool water seemed to pour over him and the room clicked into place. He could feel Keith's emotions take over the pool inside him, washing away the _voice._

Keith was looking at him expectantly. Lance realized he had done The Thing again, making someone wait too long for an answer. What had he asked? Oh right, a doctor. There was no way he could say no to those eyes, but there was also no way he was going to leave this bed ever again. So he nodded with no intention of keeping the promise. "Sure. Just let me sleep first." 

Well that was sure convincing. Not. 

Keith huffed and sat up, wrangling Lance’s hoodie off of him and using a considerable amount of energy to get his shoes off and get him tucked in. “This conversation isn’t over,” he grumbled, but another look at the misery pinching Lance’s features had him sighing out his frustration and crawling back into bed. Even if it didn’t matter in the physical sense, he still held his arms open in invitation. Of course, he’d offer up whatever it was that somehow made Lance feel better, but at least this way he could begrudgingly convey that he was letting it drop. 

Lance smiled, though he wasn't sure if it made it to his face, and wiggled over until he was slightly phasing through Keith. "Night, dweeb." 

“You’re the dweeb,” Keith grumbled back and fell into the now-familiar rhythm of ‘stroking’ Lance’s hair until he fell asleep. 

—

Right around when the sun was setting and Keith’s room was painted sherbet, the two of them were startled awake by a loud knocking at the front door followed by the obnoxious honking of a car. 

Lance hadn’t quite gotten himself together enough to figure out what was going on, so Keith popped out and back while he was still blinking himself awake. When he lifted back up through the floor, he knelt in front of Lance’s face and placed the whisper of a cool hand on his cheek. 

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “You feeling any better? There’s something you outta see.”

Lance blinked and grumbled. He'd slept too long and nap-sickness always gave him a headache. "What is it?” he asked, sitting up and yawning. 

Chuckling, Keith gestured to Lance’s hair. “You’ll see, but you might want to do something about that rat’s nest first, Sleeping Beauty.” 

Lance stuck out his tongue so Keith knew exactly how he felt about his hair being called a rat's nest. He shook his head and ran his fingers through it, then grinned up at Keith. He knew his hair was perfect now without even having to check and he hoped it irked Keith. 

Keith couldn’t roll his eyes harder if he tried. “Get up.” 

Lance made a show of getting out of bed, throwing the covers off dramatically. Throwing a bulky sweater over his head to hide his overnight thinness, followed Keith. He grumbled the whole way down the stairs, pausing on the last step. 

Keith went ahead of him, waving for him to follow before crossing through the foyer and into what, in his time, had been the living room but was once a ballroom of sorts. Hunk was bent over a generator while Pidge was lighting Sterno under a camping stove. Hunk stood up and clapped the dust from his hands once the generator began to purr. He glanced over to the side and beamed at Lance. 

“Right on time!” Then Hunk’s eyes widened as they landed on Keith. “Oh whoa. Oh _man._” He closed the distance between them and held out his hand with a wobbly but genuine smile. “Hey there, you’ve gotta be Keith. Nice to finally see you.” 

Keith would be flushed if he could be. He passed his hand through Hunk’s and shrugged apologetically, smiling a little back. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.” 

Lance stretched, yawning again. "He said, what are you losers up to?" 

Keith shot him a glare and Hunk laughed. “Don’t worry dude, we’ll just try to read your lips. And you,” he said accusingly at Lance, “seem to have entirely forgotten Midterm Movie night.” 

“Yeah, since you’ve become a creepy old hobo we thought-“ Pidge bit off their sentence as they also caught sight of Keith. They rushed over, abandoning their task entirely, and circled Keith in awe. “Ohmigod. Ohmi_god_ohmygod.” 

Keith sent Lance a pleading look. 

Lance grabbed Pidge by their collar, stopping their tirade with a choked squeak.  
"Remember what we talked about?" Lance wagged his finger. "Ghosts are people. Keith isn't a lion at the zoo." 

Pidge pouted, but nodded. 

Lance sent Keith an inquisitive glance asking for permission and looking at Pidge pointedly. 

Keith nodded hesitantly, bracing himself for...well, anything really. 

Lance pulled out his phone and opened the timer, showing Pidge. "You have one minute, I'll be your subtitles. Be nice." He let Pidge go and held out his arm so they could see. 

“Uh...hey.” Keith waved uncomfortably. 

Pidge’s eyes darted from Lance’s arm, to Keith, back to Lance’s arm. They adjusted their glasses and peered, watching the words rise and sink back into invisibility. “Dude,” they said in near-reverence. Keith watched them take a deep breath and steeple their hands, closing their eyes in preparation, and then pointing their hands at Keith. 

“Okay. First things first. Hi, I’m Pidge, and I’m really glad to meet you.” 

Keith blinked in surprise and looked at Lance, who shrugged with a little smile. “Uh, yeah, it’s nice to actually meet you too.” 

“Second. I’m sorry for anything I’ve done to offend you over the last couple of months. It just...didn’t really strike me how, you know, _real_ it is to be...well, real.”

Keith didn’t...actually follow that, but okay. He shrugged. “It’s okay. We’re still figuring it out too.” 

He noticed Pidge’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the “we” but then they schooled their expression again. “Third. If my hypothesis is correct, you use the energy from batteries and other electrical devices to manifest physical effects, yeah? That’s why my laptop and stuff kept dying?” 

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah...sorry about that.” 

“No, no, it’s fine - I just wanted to double check. Hunk and I brought you something to, you know, help. Make up for invading your space and you basically saving our lives from whatever happened last time.” Pidge grinned and motioned for Keith and Lance to follow, which they did, as Pidge indicated two bizarre looking cylinders chilling on an antique coffee table. 

“Okay, so these are essentially portable Tesla coils. Of course, it’s more complicated than that; you can’t just have that kind of electromagnetic field generation running wild without first tempering the.” Pidge stopped at Lance’s exasperated “_Pidge_,” and Keith’s lost expression. “Okay, fine. The machines go ‘zap’ so that you can use as much energy as they put out. Like an endless supply, or at least a never-ending trickle. It should help you do...uh...you.”

The timer went off and Lance silenced it. "Aw, Pigeon. Sometimes you are pretty cool." The tingle that said Keith was talking fuzzed down his arm and he held it up so Pidge could see. 

_Thank you. That’s...pretty wicked. _

Keith caught Lance’s eye and they both smiled. 

Hunk knocked on the wall. "Movie and snacks are ready! Lance, do you got any extra pillows?" 

Nodding, he left Keith to play with the coils and came back with armfuls of pillows for lounging and cuddling. 

Pidge and Hunk were already digging into the food. Lance almost dropped the pillows when he saw Keith. He was so much…_brighter_. Lance swore he was solid and even more alive than himself. 

He clutched the pillows, trying to squeeze his feelings down. It looked like they were four friends having a chill movie night where no one was dead. Where he wasn't starving to death from some kind of supernatural illness. Where something like having a crush on his friend was possible. Lance swallowed. Thoughts like that were only going to lead to heartache. He could be friends with Keith, but eventually, he had a life to live. 

Lance deposited all the pillows and took his usual seat next to Hunk. "What we watchin'?" 

Pidge absently passed Lance a plate without looking at it while rifling through their DVD case with Hunk. Keith reached forward and intercepted it, holding it in front of Lance and asking “Do you actually want any of this? Tell me the truth.” 

Lance eyed it, the smell making him flashback to the horror of his own face and the unbearable nausea. He shook his head. 

Nodding, Keith surreptitiously slid the plate behind him, dumping half its contents under the old couch and putting it back between them. If the others cared to look, they might at least be satisfied that Lance had eaten something. He hated playing accomplice like this, but he knew better than the others how much Lance’s body was suffering. Without thinking, he slung an arm over the back of the couch behind Lance and settled in. 

“Well, Hunk was gunning for _Sixteen Candles_\--”

“I thought Keith might like it,” Hunk said defensively. “You know, 90s classic. It’s a good movie!”

Keith lifted an eyebrow at Lance and smirked when Lance snickered into his pillow. 

“But, since that was a stupid suggestion, I vetoed it. What Keith needs is a selective education in the high quality cinema that has come after the year 2000. Thus, we have options.” Pidge placed a few Blu-ray discs in sleeves in front of Lance and Keith on the coffee table. “So you’ve got _Avengers, Shaun of the Dead, The Force Awakens,_ and _Jurassic World_.” 

“Quality,” Hunk nodded in assent. 

"Oh it has to be _Shaun of the Dead_. Keith hasn't lived his afterlife until he knows how to get through a crowd of zombies." Lance grabbed the DVD, solidifying his vote. 

“Would have been my pick anyway,” Keith said, grinning. Maybe it had taken twenty years and his own death to get here, but he was enjoying the hell out of his first movie night and it hadn’t even started. “Sorry Hunk.”

After Lance translated for him, Hunk waved him away. “Next time, my dude. Pidge only picks every other week. We’ll do it right - pink champagne and fluffy slippers and everything.” 

“Can’t wait.” Keith smiled at Lance, and he knew it probably looked hella goofy, wide and uninhibited. 

Lance blushed and buried his face up to his nose into his pillow. His heart hammered in his chest. Why did Keith have to be so damn cute? If this was any other situation, any other person, he'd be planning on making a move once everyone was distracted. If only. 

As soon as Lance burrowed down into the pillow, Keith was reaching forward to grab one of the blankets Lance had brought from their room. He unwrapped it, drawing gratefully from the little whirring machines Pidge had brought, and draped it over Lance’s shoulders. Then he dropped his arm across the back of the couch again, considered, and then put it around Lance and sent out the soothing warmth he seemed to so enjoy. “Better?”

Lance melted. He snuggled deeper into the blanket, making sure one arm was out so he could see Keith's words. It was kinda hard to make out in the dim light, but he tried his best. After a moment of hesitation where he weighed how much his heart could handle versus how much he wanted to, Lance leaned into Keith and tucked his legs under him. He was really leaning into the back of the couch, but he could feel the warmth bleed into his whole side and that was enough, for now. 

Keith swallowed. His hand clenched and unclenched, wondering what sort of permission he had, before he finally decided to take a leap of faith and rested it on top of Lance’s head. He mimed the action of stroking through his hair (as he had more often than Lance probably knew about while he was sleeping) and to his surprise, he did feel a bit of tension, just the barest hint of vibration. He glanced down at the machines Pidge had brought, as well as the giant generator enabling their movie night. Maybe it wasn’t touch in the way he wanted it to be, but it was better than nothing, and he hoped Lance didn’t mind. He hadn’t even realized the movie’d already started; he’d been too focused on the phantom echo of his erratic heartbeat. 

"Mmn," Lance hummed. His eyes fluttered, growing heavy. This felt so familiar, yet intensified by a thousand by the pounding of his heart. If he concentrated hard enough, he could trick himself into thinking he could feel Keith's fingers running through his hair. It was in that moment he knew he was fucked. There was no stopping his emotions from blooming from friendship into something new. Not when Keith - considerate, selfless, smartassed, superhot Keith, who had been there for him in a deeply intimate way that no one else would ever understand - was right there, ‘stroking’ his hair. Too scared of breaking the spell that had been cast by this movie night, he held as still as he could. _Please_, he sent his wish to the sky, _please let this last forever. _

The movie might have been playing for twenty minutes or twenty hours for all Keith knew. He dimly could hear Pidge and Hunk bantering, laughing, throwing popcorn at one another. His eyes were on the top of Lance’s head, the glow from the TV turning the brown of it a greyish blue. 

This could have been his real life. He might have wound up having friends like this over to the house. If he’d ever managed to stop being so chickenshit, to stand up to his stepfather and himself, to actually take what he’d wanted, maybe he would have been sitting on this couch with a different boy. Cuddling. Whisper-giggling. Kissing in the cold blue glow. But, to his growing horror, Keith realized...he didn’t want that. It felt wrong. The image made him feel sour and scared and _wrong_. There would never have been another boy. Something deep within him was certain, beyond words or the capacity to rationalize it - it always had been and always would be...Lance. 

_Oh, fuck_, he thought. _Oh my god. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit…_

And even if that was what he was thinking, he still pressed his lips against the top of that cinnamon-scented hair and whispered, “What have you done to me, Lance?” 

Hunk's smile faded and he nudged Pidge who was in the middle of doing a zombie impression. Hunk pointed with his chin and Pidge frowned, following his eyes. 

Pidge had a silent conversation with Hunk and nodded. After the movie. 

As soon as the credits rolled, Lance sat up. His smile felt permanent and he felt better than he had all week. "We doing another?" 

"I need more water. Come help me carry them, Lance?" Hunk stood, face soft. 

Lance pouted. He didn't want to leave. He was finally feeling better. 

"Please? Pidge already carried all this stuff in earlier." 

"Fine." Lance got up, looking behind him at Keith as he followed Hunk out. 

Keith watched him go. And kept watching after the door closed. 

Pidge cleared their throat and Keith snapped back guiltily. “Sorry,” he said, and Pidge must have been able to read it because they shrugged one shoulder and dug out a notebook and a pencil. 

“Here. Can you use the pencil?” Keith tested his strength and found, with the added Tesla coils, he could do it pretty easily. He nearly dropped it at the tone change in Pidge’s voice when they said, “Okay good. Because we need to talk.”

Keith frowned. Somehow, Pidge sounded tired, frustrated, tense, and accusatory all at once, and Keith’s defenses shot up. He was used to doing this, had done it several times daily when he’d been alive and living in this house, but it had been so long that the speed with which he retreated and slammed the doors behind his eyes almost frightened him. 

_About what_, he wrote. 

“Lance.” Pidge sighed and took off their glasses, rubbing their eyes. Keith could see they hadn’t been sleeping much. “There’s something you need to know about him, Keith. Lance is...well, I guess you could call it ‘single-minded.’ The better word would be ‘obsessive.’ When there’s something that has his focus, nothing breaks it for him.”

Keith had a sick feeling he knew where this was going.

_Go on. _

Pidge nodded at the paper. “This...what he’s doing now? _Living_ here, in this abandoned house without water, electricity, heat? Keith, he has an apartment that he rarely stays in anymore. He hasn’t been to class in so long that the college is going to kick him out. There’s no way he’s ready for midterms.”

Keith felt himself curling inwards, going cold. He’d known Lance had been here nearly every day, but he just...hadn’t thought about the reality. Of what that really meant for Lance and his life. 

He wrote slowly, almost trance-like. _He’s been sick. He doesn’t eat much_. 

“That doesn’t surprise me, either.” Pidge sighed and looked at Keith in entreaty. “Lance has always followed whatever fad diets are popular, and he’s always been picky about his food. But when he gets like this? He just downright forgets to do things like sleep or eat. Or go to class. Or...or live his _life_.” They both sat there for a while longer, thinking of where to go with this. 

“Keith...listen. I can’t watch him do this to himself. I care about him. A lot. He’s my family as much as my own brother.” Keith started to write, but Pidge held up a hand. “And I know you care about him too. And I’m really glad, he deserves to be cared for but...Keith, you...you’re-”

Dead, Keith thought. I’m dead. And Lance isn’t, but if he keeps this up, he might be. 

Pidge must have watched him mouth the word as well, because they deflated with a long sigh. “Yes. You’re dead. And I’m really sorry about that, and I know it’s got to be hard, but...Lance has a life to live. Out there. Away from the Red House. And we need your help to get him there.”

They let the silence stretch. Every minute made Keith feel like he’d rather be swallowed up, dropped into the basement well, just cease to exist instead of saying what he had to say next. Writing the words felt like signing off on his own execution.

_I understand. _

Pidge took the notebook from him and stuffed it in their bag. “I knew you would.” 

\--

"How much water do we need?" Lance asked once they were outside. 

"Not much." Hunk did the thing where he played with his fingers. 

Lance knew it from years of being best friends. Something was up. He watched him squirm for a few more steps before confronting him. "You don't need me to help you get water, do you?" 

Hunk paused, looking back at the house. Whatever he was looking for he must've found because he nodded and turned to Lance. 

This was definitely one of Hunk’s mom-talks. He could feel it. 

"You seem to be doing better." 

Lance relaxed. This wasn't going to be so bad. "So much better.” He grinned, the high from cuddling Keith still buzzing under his skin. “I still have no idea what that green ghost did to me, but Keith helped a lot. His ghost magic is _something._" 

Hunk grinned. "Awesome. So you'll be back in class Monday? I was getting worried." 

"Woah, hold on. I didn't say anything about going back to class." Lance took a step back, closer to the house. He couldn’t feel Keith's aura from out here and he didn’t like that. Keith’s become a type of security blanket. 

"Lance." Hunk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Herrera is close to failing you. Pidge is the only reason she hasn't. And that's just _one_ of your classes. " He stepped forward and put his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “You're not dead. You don’t belong here. You need to go home.”

Lance listened with half an ear while Hunk lectured him. It was best to let Hunk do his mom thing and get it all out. That is, until Hunk told him to go home. “I am home.” He pulled out of Hunk’s grasp.

“No you’re not, Lance.” Hunk waved at the house behind them. “This is a condemned building that you’re trespassing in. Your home is in your apartment, with us, and school, and your family. When was the last time you called your mom?” 

That was low. Of course Lance still cared about all those things, but those things would all be there after he figured out what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t do anything if he was dead and Lance knew that if he didn’t solve this puzzle soon, he would be. A familiar headache pulsed at the base of his skull. He needed to get back to Keith. “I’m an adult. If I want to trespass I can do that. What are you going to do? Call the cops on me?” He was on the verge of yelling now. He could hear the hysteria creep into his voice. 

Hunk slumped, holding out his hands to show he meant no harm. “Of course not. I’m just worried about you and so is Pidge. This isn’t healthy.”

_Oh and dying of starvation was._ Not that Hunk knew. Lance wasn’t even sure if Keith knew. His dieting had never been such a problem before and he wasn’t really sure if it was the problem now. This seemed bigger than him and he was scared. 

“I’m staying, Hunk. That’s final.” 

Hunk looked like he was almost in tears and Lance tried to soften his voice, “But I’m still your friend and I promise I’ll go back to school soon, okay?”

Hunk didn’t say anything to that and Lance was happy to drop it. 

“Let’s just get the water.” Hunk led the way, handing Lance a jug to carry. 

When they brought the jugs inside, Pidge was packing up the monitor and HDMI cables and Keith was nowhere to be found. 

The headache was full blown now. Next would be the nausea and Lance would rather avoid that happening twice in one day. “Where’s Keith?”

Pidge made an airy gesture that more or less indicated the entire house, but didn’t say anything until they had finished snapping everything into its rolling case. They stood and brushed the dust from their pants, looking up to give Lance a tight smile. 

“Thanks for movie night and picking something that doesn’t suck. See you in class?” Before Lance could retort, Pidge was rolling the suitcase away but stopped a few feet from the door. They paused, fidgeted. Sighed. Finally seemed to come to a decision and fished a manilla envelope from their backpack, doubling back to hand it to Lance. 

“...I found that when we went digging. Then we had our talk about ghosts are people and whatever and I didn’t think you...well, anyway. You can choose to read it or not. Up to you.” This time the smile was sad and they patted Lance’s shoulder as if he wasn’t nearly a foot and change taller than them. Then they seemed to think better of it and set the suitcase upright in favor of giving him a hug. It was short-lived, not even enough time for Lance to reciprocate. “Night, Lance,” they said, and pulled their bag through the front door. 

Lance rolled the envelope and stuffed it in his back pocket without a word. Once they were gone he slammed the door. Who were they to tell him what he could or couldn’t do? “Keith?” He waited for an answer, looking around and down at his arms. “Hey, Keith!” 

He climbed the stairs to his, their, _Keith’s_ room. Lance opened the door expecting to see Keith lounging on the bed. “You won’t believe what Hunk--” Empty. Okay.

Lance took a calming breath. This didn’t mean anything. He remembered the strange way Pidge had acted. At first, he chalked it up to them being unsure about whatever was in the folder they gave him, but now he was worried that while he was talking to Hunk, Pidge was talking to Keith. 

Panic rose, taking over. “Keith!” He ran from room to room slamming doors open and closed. He searched everywhere. Everywhere but...

His hand gripped the handle to the garage. His ears pounded with his headache and his stomach turned. The Sickness wasn’t growing like it had this morning, which meant Keith was here, somewhere. Lance turned the handle and opened the door.

The light switch next to the door didn’t work, but none of the light switches worked. It was a habit that was hard to break. He couldn’t see past the inky blackness; only a thin strip of light shone where the garage door blocked the outside. It was odd that none of them had ever been here. They hadn’t even filmed it for their project.

For good reason. 

It felt..._wrong. _

Fear gripped him and glued his feet in place.

After living in this house for a week, he’d never once been scared. He’d always had Keith. They goofed off and played games and when Lance was too weak to do either, they slept. He wished Keith was here now. He _had_ to find him. 

Lance’s arm tingled and he looked around before he even saw the words. “There you are, what the h-” 

No Keith. Lance glanced down at his arm. 

_What do you need?_

Wasn’t that obvious? The word _you_ burned in Lance’s throat and he swallowed. “C’mon, this isn’t funny. Where are you?”

_I’m right here. What do you need?_

Lance slammed the door. He was not in the mood after his fight with Hunk to play weird mind games with Keith. “Well, I can’t see you. What did Pidge do?” Lance spun around, trying to find him.

Keith materialized with the same sort of fireflies as before, but he was looking at the ground and scowling harder than Lance had ever seen before. “Nothing that didn’t need to be done,” he said, cold and sullen. 

"What?" Lance was at a loss. He was watching everything he cared about slip through his fingers in a span of about twenty minutes. He’d come to terms with the fact that he might have to redo his semester, but now he felt like he was losing Hunk and Pidge and now, Keith. "I don't care what they said. Forget it, okay?”

Keith looked up, helpless and wild. “But they weren’t wrong. You’re not eating, you’re always asleep, and you never told me you were failing. I don’t want you to hurt, but you need to see a doctor and...and live your actual life instead of hiding away here with me. I can’t be selfish like that.”

"But…" Lance's head was reeling. What happened to the soft Keith from before? What happened to the hope building in his chest? He reached out, grabbing for Keith's hand. 

It passed right through, as it always did. Keith squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. “See?”

"No. I don't see." Lance felt tears threatening to fall and his throat closed up. "I'm fine. I'm handling it. I thought--" His stomach clenched and he doubled over, holding it as his vision swam. "Fuck." 

“You haven’t eaten in _three days_, Lance! Something is going on, look at you! No one loses that much weight running to the store.” Keith gestured between them. “You can’t keep living like this!” Even as he said this, Keith had to use every ounce of self-restraint he had to keep from throwing his arms around Lance and warming him up. With a thick throat, he managed, “I can’t watch this house take you, too. I won’t.” 

That was the truth, at least. Lance deserved that much. 

Lance looked up through the tears in his eyes. "You want me to leave?" 

Keith opened his mouth and shut it. “I want you to go to school and be with your friends. I want you to live your life. I want you to _eat_.” He could feel himself slipping, knew that the subtle vibrations in the floorboards were from his own emotions spilling out, the part of him crying _no don’t leave don’t ever leave please please please_. “So...yes.”

The words were razor blades cutting through Lance's heart. He thought that they were at least friends. He was wrong. Keith had just signed his death sentence. Lance could feel it in his gut. That awful voice inside him was singing _leave_ and until now, he’d been able to avoid doing just that. One more night, just one more. “Tomorrow. I can leave tomorrow. Let me stay tonight.” He bowed his head, watching his tears wet the dust on the floor. “Please.”

The floorboards were rattling now, and Keith’s fists were clenching and unclenching at his side. He wrenched himself away and slammed his eyes shut, turning so Lance at least couldn’t see. “Sure. Get some sleep.” Then he was gone. 

Lance stared at the spot where Keith used to be. The room went cold. He shivered, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or from the creeping fear that pooled in his stomach. 

There was no way he’d be able to survive. 

At least around Keith he could eat now and then, but out there? The Sickness was too strong. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. One more night and then it was over. The worst part was that Keith didn’t care about him. If Keith did, he’d have stayed. Keith might not know everything but he knew enough. He knew how much Lance suffered without him. Keith _knew_. And he still left.

It tore his soul in half. 

It was so strong and so real he could hear it ripping in his ears. He screamed, guttural and hopeless, as he doubled over to clench at his heart. _Not even a goodbye_. A part of him hoped that Keith would come back; would appear and apologize and wrap him in his warmth and tell him he was sorry. He sat there, letting the hard wood dig into his knees, waiting for it to happen. Every second that ticked by his hope evaporated, sucked into the dark corners of the house. 

Keith never came.

He stayed that way until his tears dried. Detached and numb, he stood up.

Something thunked to the floor. The yellow envelope from Pidge lay innocently on the ground. Lance wanted to kick it or stomp on it or rip it to shreds. This was all their fault. If Pidge and Hunk hadn’t tried to stick their noses into his business this would’ve never happened. At the same time, he knew that if this hadn’t happened now, it would’ve happened eventually. He was running away from the inevitable. 

Lance bent over and picked up the envelope, giving it a few whacks against his leg to shake off the dust. Keith had said he could stay; he didn’t say he could stay in his room. Well, if Keith didn’t want anything to do with him then he didn’t want anything to do with Keith. He wiped his tears with his fists and trudged into the living room.

Flopping onto the couch, he had a staring contest with the yellow paper. Pidge said this was sensitive information, right? That’s what they meant about Keith being a person. Well, Keith was also being an ass, so…

Lance ripped off the seal and pulled out a thick stack of printer paper. Flipping through them, they mostly looked like pink slips and other school files. He stopped to read one: 

Disorderly Conduct Sept. 17th 1997  
I _Keith Kogane_, agree to the following:  
Today, I, Keith, attacked and injured Steve Moore and Adam Grant. This is my sixth citation of violence and I agree to speak to police.

What the fuck. Lance flipped through more. There was a very graphic picture of someone named Zack Giddings. His face looked like tenderized beef. At the end of the stack was a mugshot. Keith sporting a black eye stared back at him from behind a plaque of numbers. Under it were listed all his violent crimes as well as his sentence of being assigned a supervisor from juvenile court. 

Lance set the stack down. Pidge was right, they shouldn’t have given him this. They must’ve hacked the school or the county records, because this was definitely not public information. 

The question was, what was Lance going to do about it? Did any of this change his opinion? Keith had attacked Lance now, twice. He also stroked his hair to put him to sleep. This was all too confusing. He stuffed the papers back inside their envelope and slid it under the couch. 

Keith didn’t matter anyway. Lance was dead in the morning. 

He pulled out his phone, texting his mom _I love you_ and laid down. All he could think about was how he wished he was upstairs sleeping with Keith and he hated himself for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does the beta dance* thank you to our fantastic beta Mintusti ✨
> 
> Sail: Please, as always, tears are donated to my whumpicorn and free hugs are given out in the comments! Also, if you mention the secret note game I'll give you a lance pickup line :3
> 
> Autumn: Tell me the chapstick line doesn’t get you too. (Autumn would prob die if anyone else has seen that movie so please comment and make her day -Sail)
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sail: Okay so CW first: the tags: Gore, Homophobia/Homophobic slang, in-depth conversations about ED, blatant descriptions of bullying and abuse, both physical and mental, and body horror will all apply. This is definitely the most horror packed of the chapters. Please cheer on Keith and Lance, they're going to need your support to get to the finish line!
> 
> Autumn: Please be careful. If any of these CW will upset you, this is one to skip.  
That being said...this is one of my favorite chapters and I'm so glad we're finally here.
> 
> For other updates and silliness about our fic and future fics (if you like us we're writing more) then  
Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

Lance stared up at the cracked ceiling of his campus apartment. Everything was foreign to him now. The posters were too recent and the decor was too colorful. It didn’t feel like home.

Back in school. 

He’d received an earful of long lecture after long lecture about the importance of showing up for class from each of his teachers. Lucky for him, Pidge forged a sickness leave approval for the time he was absent. Without it, he’d probably have to take the whole semester again. Or worse, he’d have been kicked out. The reality of that weighed down on him. It hadn’t seemed as important in the Red House. He’d been willing to give everything up only a few days ago. Not that it was sunshine and roses now.

It was hell without Keith. Lance knew he’d become dependent on the weird ghost magic to keep him from feeling like shit, but this was worse than he’d thought it would be. Before, he could eat small meals and rely on Keith sending him off to sleep afterward so his body could digest; now, his body completely rejected food. His jaw wouldn’t open on most days and if by some miracle it did, his stomach would reject it and he’d have to run to the bathroom. 

Lance shifted on his bed to see his alarm clock. 

It was almost time for class and he still hadn’t gotten anything to stay down. He felt weak and shaky. All he wanted to do was sleep. The drone in his head was deafening. He let it vibrate over him as he lay there and continued to lay there through his alarm and several knocks on his door. He only moved when Hunk burst through, brandishing his spare key like a weapon and demanding to know where he’d been. Even then, Lance only swiveled his head enough to see who it was. 

“M’ tired. Leave me alone.” 

"Are you sick, again? I brought soup." 

"Not hungry," Lance lied. He was so hungry, but the soup smelled like rotten fish. Bile prickled at his throat, threatening to spill over.

Hunk sat on his bed and swept Lance’s hair back, feeling his forehead. "No fever." He placed the canister of soup on Lance's side table that was overflowing with nicknacks. Hunk sighed, looking down at Lance with pity. "What happened, Lance? I can't help you if you don't tell me." 

"You forced me to come back when I said I wanted to stay." Lance shrugged. Keith not wanting him back was beside the point. It was their fault Keith pushed him away. It still stung that he’d listened to them in the first place. Lance thought Keith was starting to… It didn’t matter now. He just wanted Hunk to leave so he could sleep off the hunger. 

"I'm not having this argument again." Hunk stood up, his face shifting into group-mom mode. "If all you're doing is moping, then you need to come to class. We didn't drag you back to school for you to hide here all day." 

It took all of Lance's effort to sit up. He wanted to yell that he was dying and scared and it was all Hunk’s fault, but he didn’t have the energy. Agreeing would be the fastest way to get through this conversation. Lance nodded "Fine. I'll be there tomorrow." 

"I'll pick you up and we'll go together." 

"Sure, whatever."  _ Just leave me alone _ , Lance finished in his head. The droning was growing louder now that the whole room smelled like soup and it was getting hard to hear. 

"I want to see you eat before I leave." 

"No." 

Hunk picked it up and handed it to Lance. "One bite and I'll leave." 

Lance almost retched right then and there. Hunk wasn't his friend. Friends didn’t force you to throw up in front of them. 

Hunk shook the canister making the soup slosh thickly against the metal can. "One bite, that's all I ask." 

There was no getting out of this unless he wanted Hunk there all night. "Fine. Then you leave." Lance unscrewed the lid, ignoring Hunk’s hurt look. The smell was worse now that it was open and bile burned the back of his throat. 

"Open your mouth before you swallow, so I know you didn't fake it." 

"I can't." Lance shoved the soup back, ready to run to the bathroom if his gag reflex betrayed him. 

"You can and you will even if I have to force-feed you." Hunk pushed it back into Lance's face. "You're lucky it's me and not Pidge, they would already be spooning it down your throat." 

Lance swallowed the acid in his mouth and looked down. It wasn’t really soup, it was thicker, more like stew or curry. He tipped it back and even though his mouth was open it spilled down his face as if he'd dumped it on purpose. Only a small trickle entered through the pinhole that was his invisible mouth. It tasted just like it smelled. Rotten fish. 

Lance gagged but swallowed, panting heavily. 

Hunk was glaring at him. "You didn't have to dump it." 

Lance looked down to see the thick soup all over his front. Cold sweat pricked along his neck and his head swam. He was going to throw up. He leaned over, head in his hands. It was a mistake; his stomach heaved. 

The sounds he was making must have alerted Hunk that he wasn’t just being dramatic. Hunk grabbed for the paper wastebasket by his desk as Lance brought up the pitiful swallow of soup along whatever stomach acid he had left. It was mostly blood. Hunk rubbed his back the whole time. 

“Okay,” Hunk said, “new tactic. Crackers and ginger ale.” 

Lance looked up at Hunk through his hands, eyes watery and red with little freckles of blood blisters blooming in the white of his eyes. “Please, Hunk.” 

Lance’s pathetic voice deepened the concern and, under that, the fear in Hunk’s expression. “At least let me take you to the campus clinic? It’s just a ten minute walk.” 

"You promised to leave." Lance tugged his shirt over his head as he laid back. He rolled onto his side, away from Hunk. 

Hunk gasped but didn’t say anything. 

Lance knew what he looked like. Knew that the body he’d worked so hard to keep beautiful over the years had turned revolting. Even worse than that, there was a part of Lance that  _ liked _ how thin he’d become and that scared him. He knew that wasn’t the demon talking. The demon’s voice was the hiss of a record over glass, it was drums pounding in his ears, it was foreign. These thoughts? They were all him. 

The thunk of his door shutting made him want to cry. He knew he was pushing his friends away. It wasn’t fair to them, but he wished they wouldn't listen. He didn’t want to be alone. 

_ It  _ wasn’t giving him a choice. 

\-- 

Lance knew he was out of time. 

He sat on the bed looking at his rations. He had to eat just one, one bite, and he would give himself a gold star - and by that, he meant he could probably continue surviving. His jaw ached and his teeth ground against each other, refusing to open. He pushed the cereal bar against his lips, but he already knew it was an illusion. He didn’t have lips anymore, not really. His mouth, the one that he could eat food with, which was different than the one he used to talk, was too small to open. 

He hadn’t looked at his reflection since coming home but he knew the monster he’d become. It was probably worse now. Lance took a small crumb off the corner and tried to find the pinhole to eat it with. There, he could taste something sweet touch his tongue. If he kept this up, he might be able to eat the whole bar. 

It turned to rot. Lance gagged, spitting it out. The moldy globule fell into his hand. 

_ More. More. More.  _

The drone was constant now and there was nothing he could do except listen to it. Lance threw the bar into the trash next to his bed.  _ It _ loved when he threw food away.  _ It _ also laughed when food rotted in his mouth as if this was all some kind of game to  _ It _ . The bar joined the rest of the snacks, all molding. Any food he touched rotted after a few minutes, even if it didn’t make it into his mouth. He leaned back on the bed. If he lived long enough, his hair was probably going to fall out soon. That was fine. As long as he survived.

_ It  _ didn’t like that train of thought. The  _ Something _ inside him raged. Lance was actively going against it, trying to live, and that would not do. So the droning changed. It grew and buzzed at a different, higher frequency - or maybe it was a chorus of whispers. Whistling. A buzzsaw on metal. It was so hard to tell, maybe it was all of those at once. 

Lance understood it even if he couldn’t make out words.  _ It  _ was calling. He could tell the  _ Something _ was calling for help. Lance listened to  _ It _ with that detached curiosity similar to watching a car crash.  _ It  _ was summoning aid to help  _ It _ kill. Lance was about to die and he knew there was no escape. It was impossible when the murderer was inside him.

He could feel it, like a magnet. Evil was coming for him. Slow. So slow. Crawling towards him as if it knew Lance couldn’t run.

Lance leaned back against his bed, clutched his phone, and waited. 

An hour passed. 

Then two. 

He began to cry. Silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he accepted his death.

Mist filled the room first. 

Black and thick, it seeped through the cracks in the walls and dripped down to the floor. Lazily, as if the mass was toying with him, little tendrils of darkness slithered and coiled across the carpet, all making their way toward him. There was no reason to rush; it took its time, reaching for him. A spider’s web of smoke wove itself through the room with every thread pointed at him.  _ It _ paralyzed Lance in place, ensuring that he couldn’t move. Not that he had much choice with how weak he’d become. 

Fear froze his veins. He needed to get out, but he could barely sit up. Lance tried to unlock his phone, but it slipped from his stiff and trembling fingers. Catching it before it tumbled off the bed, he willed himself to stop shaking. The mist grew so thick that it dimmed the whole room. Lance blinked as his eyes adjusted. He needed to open his phone. If nothing else, he wanted to say goodbye. 

Finally, he pulled his phone back into his palm. The floorboards thudded with his pounding heart as the darkness around him began to moan. A swipe of his thumb unlocked it. 

It was too late. 

The mist collected and grew, filling every corner of his ceiling and expanding until the walls cracked. With a sound like trains colliding, a massive maw lined with endless rows of teeth gnashed and whirled into existence. Lance hit speed dial as a thick fist flew from the darkness and encircled his throat. 

He screamed, pulling uselessly at the meaty claw. The fist tightened and pushed a final squeak from him before cutting off all air. 

This was it, this was what he had been waiting for. Somehow he knew, in the back of his mind, that this would be his end. And no one was here to save him. He was going to die alone and that seemed to hurt more than this monster squeezing the life from him. Alone, and it was his own fault. Hunk had tried, he’d  _ tried  _ \- 

The teeth grew closer. It didn’t have eyes, but it didn’t need them. Its prey was at the end of its fist. 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to watch the sharp metal slice his face to ribbons. 

The door slammed open, splintering on its hinges. 

“Lance! Buddy! We’re here, what -  _ OHMYGOD WHAT IS THAT?!”  _

The creature whirled, dropping Lance and focusing on Hunk. It swelled and more of the rotten black mist reached the ceiling, swallowing the last of the light. It hissed and screeched, the sound of metal grinding metal making the air vibrate as the rings of teeth began to spin. 

Pidge ran in behind Hunk and stopped, completely halted in fear for a split second. Their eyes snapped from the monster to Lance, and back. 

“Get Lance,” they commanded before darting forward, picking up the little stool by Lance’s bed and roaring as they brought it down on the creature somewhere around its middle. Black tendrils like living entrails snaked out and wrapped around the stool, sucking it into the creature’s nothingness. Pidge gaped. 

“Okay, that’s all I’ve got -  _ go, go, GO!”  _

Hunk hadn’t wasted any time in scooping Lance up like he weighed no more than a wet napkin.

“Hunk,” Lance wheezed, his voice horse and thin. 

Hunk took only a second to stare in horror at Lance before sprinting into action, narrowly missing an enormous fist that landed behind his heels. Wood flew in all directions, but he was already out the door and taking the stairs two at a time in his effort to race the creature to his car. Pidge had the forethought to pull the door closed before they jumped onto the banister, beating Hunk to the bottom in a slide. Not two seconds later, the wall exploded with a force that shook the whole building. Muffled screaming from the other apartments echoed behind them in their wake, but they didn’t have time to even look behind them. All they could do was run. 

Pidge took over the wheel of Hunk’s van, tires squealing as soon as Hunk had clambered into the passenger seat with Lance clutched tight to his chest. He hadn’t even shut the door when Pidge threw the van into a screeching donut. The van’s back wheels tore up huge clods of dirt as they slammed the pedal to the floor. 

Lance reached up trying to touch Hunk’s face. “I need Keith.” He slumped as his eyes rolled back and his hand fell to the side, hanging off Hunk’s lap. 

“Okay buddy, okay,” Hunk was cooing breathlessly to Lance, checking for his pulse with shaking fingers. It was thready, but there. Lance’s head lolled to the side, and Hunk watched in horror as his cheeks sank further in even as he sucked in a staticky breath. “Okay, we’re going to see Doctor Keith, yeah? He’ll get you fixed -” Hunk’s sentence broke off into unintelligible screaming, accompanied by Pidge’s “ _ SWEET FETAL JESUS”  _ as the monster tore through the trees behind them, skittering on too many legs like a hellish, jerky, spider on extreme fast forward. 

“DO YOU SEE THAT DO YOU SEE WHAT ITS LEGS ARE DOING-” 

“YES I FUCKING SEE IT, OF COURSE, I FUCKING SEE IT-” Pidge blew through a red light, causing two cars behind them to honk and careen into spinning stops. The monster simply plowed into one, shredding the entire front off with its spinning chainsaw of a mouth. That didn’t even slow it down, it just kept running. 

Lance moaned, his lashes fluttering against bruised sockets. Hunk crushed him to his chest protectively and bent over him, shielding him as much as he could. He slammed his eyes closed and began murmuring, murmuring, murmuring. His hands fumbled at the dashboard until he opened the glove box and made contact with a velvet bag. Yanking it open, he grabbed the crystal point inside, his chanting louder and more determined once he had it in his hand. 

“Not a good time for nursery rhymes, Hunk!” Pidge snapped, throwing the wheel hard to the left. The van screamed onto a side road that led out of the city, pitching precariously. It bounced a few times before finding its center of gravity. They were so close to making it to the backwoods. 

Hunk ignored Pidge, finishing his incantation firmly and holding the crystal up. 

The creature wheeled back as if burned, squealing and gnashing its teeth, sparks flying from its mouth. As if connected, Lance groaned, clutching his stomach. 

“It hurts,” he moaned, “It hurts  _ so much _ .” 

“I know,” Hunk tried to soothe, pressing the clear stone to Lance’s abdomen. “I know, almost there.” 

“Brace yourself!” Pidge called a warning as they went flying over the swollen creek that usually took them ages to navigate by using the rickety little bridge that connected its banks. The van landed on the other side with a heavy crunch, bouncing so hard on its shocks it sent Hunk’s head slamming into the ceiling. Pidge picked up speed as best they could, dodging boulders and large trees as they heard the bridge get swallowed up in thrashing circles of teeth. 

They cleared the ridge and made it back to the dirt road that led up to the house, taking the turns so quickly that the van tilted onto two tires. Paxton rose up at them, brown and huge and stark against the moon, its red door acting like a beacon. 

Pidge sent the car careening to a stop and Hunk was pitching out of it before the van settled back on its tires. He was already screaming Keith’s name by the time he burst through the red door. 

“KEITH! Oh my god, KEITH! KEITH, WE NEED YOU! IT’S LANCE!” 

Keith exploded into existence beside him, the fireflies turning into electric embers in his haste. He scanned Lance’s face, eyes going huge in terror, turning to Hunk to demand answers - 

He got them as Pidge came screaming into the house, the creature right behind them. It swooped in on legs of smoke, rising high to the ceiling before curling itself into a point behind its own mouth, diving straight for Lance. Hunk curled up and braced as best he could. 

The blow never came. 

Keith launched himself at the creature,  _ dived  _ for it, and managed to push it out of the way enough for Hunk to scramble to safety with Lance in his grasp. The thing smashed into the ground before lifting its head, the grating keen of metal grinding and making the windows shake as it screamed at Keith. Keith centered himself, shaking out his arms, focus narrowing. He didn’t think, didn’t plan, he didn’t have time. All he knew was that this thing was attacking Lance, and that meant it had to  _ die.  _

With a feral roar, he summoned everything he had and felt his body light up with the same red fire-light he’d found the last time he’d fought something like this. It snaked all down his arms, his torso, his legs, filling him from the inside until his eyes and mouth blazed red-hot. The monster launched at him and Keith slid under it, landing on his knees as it rushed over him. It banked at the chandelier before all if its many legs scrambled across the wood and shot back towards him. This time, Keith had a fistful of red fire. He dodged to the left as it gnashed passed him and plunged his flames into the thick smoke of its body. It howled, the fire snagging some of the blackness like paper catching fire. Its massive mouth swung around and Keith only had time to reach out and brace, holding it off by planting his palms flat against its rotting lips. He grunted, flaring up and giving another loud cry as he struggled to hold it back, whirring teeth millimeters away from his face. 

“Stop it, you disgusting pile of rotted air!” 

Something hit the monster and it turned its attention to Pidge. It was enough of a distraction for Keith to let go and dart away. The monster’s momentum crashed it forward, its mouth catching in the wooden floor. For a split second, it was trapped. Keith didn’t waste any time. 

Using everything, absolutely everything he could muster, he flared up so brightly that the whole room turned red. He ran, howling, straight for the thing, jumping onto its back. The scarlet ghost-fire encircled his arms, flared from his eyes, gathered into a single point, and Keith drove it down into the creature’s head with raw, venomous rage. The red snaked through the black like cracks in lava, and with a long, shrill scream, the monster exploded into embers. 

Keith fell to the ground, all traces of red light fizzling out and leaving him gasping on his knees. 

He didn’t stay still for long. 

Half running, half crawling, Keith dragged himself across the room to where Hunk was curled over Lance. He shoved Hunk to the side and gathered Lance into his arms, stroking his hair back, threading his fingers through it desperately. 

“Hey,” he whispered, shaky and terrified. “Hey, hey, Lance, you hear me? You in there? Come back to me, okay?” His voice cracked and thickened. “Come back to me.” 

\--

Lance was pretty sure this was hell. He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, but it must’ve been awful. His Sickness picked at him, tearing off bits of flesh and eating it. Every time it feasted, Lance grew weaker, smaller, hungrier. It was feasting now.

“Stop, please. Stop.” It ignored him, stuffing its face full of whatever essence made Lance himself. “Hurts,” Lance’s voice echoed against the dark was of hell and came back distorted and mocking. A fun mirror version of himself. 

_ Its _ face looked like his. Not his human face, but that disgusting face he’d started to associate with the Sickness. Shriveled and hollow and featureless except for the tiny almost nonexistent mouth.  _ Why are you doing this to me? _ he asked it. He didn’t speak the words. He didn’t want to hear his own voice mocking him again. Still, he knew  _ It _ understood. 

_ It,  _ too, didn’t answer him in words; it answered him in that awful drone that plagued his waking days. Lance tried to cover his ears but in horror, he realized he didn’t have arms. They’d been devoured long ago and only stumps remained behind. The edges of the torn and gnawed flesh festered with maggots. He could smell himself. He smelled of rot. Lance swallowed down vomit.  _ I get it; you want more. More of  _ what _ ?  _

Lance thought that it laughed at him. The sound chilled him to his core. He’d never forget the sound of that laugh, like decay and death. It sliced through the air like razor blades, cutting at him, ripping him apart. 

_ Next. More. Next. More.  _ __   
_   
_ The chanting filled all of hell, echoed against the dark nothingness and pummeled his skin. This was reality. This was all there had ever been since the beginning of time and this is all there ever would be till the end of the world. Pain and torture and being eaten alive. The only escape was death. Lance knew it. The Sickness  __ wanted him to know it. If Lance gave up, it would all be over. So easy. Give up. Let go. 

_ Die _ .

Lance closed his eyes.

The Sickness hissed, crawling backward. A strip of Lance’s flesh hanging from its pin-mouth. 

Warmth. 

Had warmth ever existed in this world made of pain? He could feel it surround him. It was so familiar, but he couldn’t remember  _ why _ . It must’ve existed at some point, then. Or else it wouldn’t be familiar. The last time he’d felt this warm was… years ago, a lifetime ago. He’d only known cold agony for so long that the warmth was terrifying. His first instinct was to run away, bury into himself deeper. He should follow the Sickness into the depths of hell. That was where he’d be safe. Where nothing would change. Where he could find death. 

Then he remembered. 

Words on his arms-- when he’d had arms. Soft eyes and silent laughter that tickled under his skin. Warm hands comforting him into a dreamless sleep.

With a tentative step, Lance let the warmth surround him. It was more like fire to his cold and rotting skin. He screamed. 

Gasping, Lance opened his eyes. He blinked up at-- “Keith?” his voice was rough and wooly to his ears. 

Keith learned something new about ghosts then. Not only did they dream, but if hard-pressed, they could also cry. 

Not with real saltwater tears, of course, but he felt the heat and sparks prickle and spill nonetheless. 

“Yeah,” he choked on a watery smile. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay. You’re okay now, I’ve got you. I’m not letting go, okay? Not again.” He was babbling nonsense, so he pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled into the salt of Lance’s skin. 

Lance was still trying to catch up. His hellish dream was overlaid on top of reality and he racked his brain to remember how he got here, in Keith’s arms. “‘S okay,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what Keith was apologizing for; all he knew was that he didn’t want Keith to cry. Lance lifted his hand and brushed one of the sparking tears from his cheek. It flickered against his skin and faded out of existence. 

That didn’t stop Keith’s hands or words. Sorry was all he was capable of saying, over and over, whispering it to Lance’s eyelids and forehead and sweaty hair as he touched, touched, touched. 

Keith’s touch filled the gaping hunger in Lance and strength slowly returned to his bones. As his strength returned, so did his awareness. Keith’s hair tickled his face and Keith’s hands seemed to wander from his face to his arms and back again as if making sure he was in one piece. Lance was grateful for that, it was nice to know he was solid and alive and that none of his limbs were eaten.

_ Wait.  _

Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and held it still. His grip was weak, so Keith must’ve been letting him do what he wanted. He ran a finger from the palm up, tracing the skin, to the glove, back to skin and up to the tips of his fingers. 

“You’re real.” 

Keith stared dumbly at their hands. Blinked. Blinked again as realization began to dawn. He looked to Lance with something like awe, then it shimmered and melted into the biggest smile that had ever graced his face. He gathered Lance up and pressed him to his chest, burying his face into Lance’s hair, trying for all the world to squeeze them both together into a single person. 

Lance squeaked as the air was pushed from his lungs. Keith smelled like warm electronics. He kinda liked it. “A bit tight, dude.” He tapped Keith’s shoulder, the only part of Keith he could reach with this arms trapped between them. 

“Don’t care,” Keith mumbled into him, holding tight as a vice. 

“Maybe let’s not kill him after we just saved his life,” Hunk said, resting a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith looked up, startled; he’d genuinely forgotten anyone else was there. 

“Sorry…” He eased his grip, but like hell was he letting Lance go entirely - not when he was here and real and Keith could actually touch him. 

“You two can suck astral face all you want later,” Pidge griped, sitting down with an exhausted huff. “First off, I want to know what in the fresh hell is going on. With like.  _ All  _ of this.” 

Lance ducked his head, blush rising to his ears. Once he had his strength back he was going to strangle Pidge. Their jibes weren't enough for him to break away, though. He peeked up at Keith to see if he was affected by Pidge’s words. Meeting Keith’s eyes was too much and he had to look back down. “Dunno.” He picked at Keith’s shirt. It didn’t quite feel like fabric, but he wasn’t sure what was different about it. 

Keith’s arms were still full of Lance, so he nudged at Lance’s cheek with his nose to get his attention. “Are you up to translating?” 

Lance tapped his throat. It felt hot to the touch and he winced at the sore flesh. “Hurts.” 

“Okay. Don’t talk, okay? Let’s get you resting.” Keith didn’t even put active thought into whether he could or not - he just scooped Lance up into his arms. It was nauseating how little he weighed. Keith had to battle down a fresh wave of guilt to focus on the Lance that needed him now. 

He looked over his shoulder at Hunk. “Later,” he mouthed as clearly as he could. “Water?” 

“On it.” Hunk gave Lance an over-cheerful smile and went out to the van. 

Pidge looked Keith and Lance up and down and sighed. “I’ll get the generator. We’ll be here a while.” 

Keith smiled gratefully before turning and starting up the stairs to his room. 

For the first time since they met, Lance wished he could write on Keith’s arms so he didn’t have to talk. His throat burned with every swallow and talking felt like he was wheezing through a bent hose. 

Lance clung to Keith, resting his head on his shoulder. “Not mad?” He used as few words as possible to get his message across. He hoped Keith would understand what he meant. 

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Keith’s nose wrinkled in confusion before it apparently dawned on him. And broke his heart while he was at it. “You thought...I was mad? At  _ you _ ?” He shook his head as he kicked his door open. “Nevermind. We can talk about it later and it doesn’t matter anyway. No more talking.” He set Lance down on the bed and pulled the quilt over him. 

Lance grabbed Keith's wrist to keep him from leaving. It felt like he spent more time asleep than awake these days and yet he was still exhausted. 

He tugged weakly. "Don' leave." 

Keith smiled and crawled in beside him, lifting an arm so Lance could rest on his chest. “Weren’t you listening, dipshit? I said never again. Now, are you going to stop talking for once?” 

Lance nodded into Keith's chest. It was solid underneath his head and for the first time since he left, he felt safe. Sleep overtook him before he had time to mutter  _ good night.  _

Lance flitted in and out of consciousness. Conversations melted into his dreams. Hunk and Pidge walked in and out with snippets of things he'd rather forget. The only constant was Keith's arms that never left him. Each time he stirred Keith would stroke his hair tenderly until he fell back asleep. He didn't dream of the Sickness. 

When he finally woke up it was two dark eyes that blinked softly down at him. For once, the turning in his stomach had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the man in front of him. "'Morning." His throat felt amazing like he hadn't been strangled by the meaty paw of a Horror. He touched it in awe. The pain was gone. 

Keith smirked down at him from where he had his head propped in his hand, elbow on the pillow next to Lance. “More like afternoon. It’s half past noon o’clock. How are you feeling?” The words tingled with amusement down his skin. 

"Better. Great. How?" Lance would've rushed to a mirror to see if there was any bruising, but he didn’t want to know if he still had a faceless reflection. 

“I’m not sure,” Keith said honestly, “but the important part is that you snored like you were trying to cause an avalanche.” 

"I did not!" Lance play-punched Keith in the arm. It stopped, blocked by the solid-ness that was Keith’s form. 

Right. He could touch Keith. His fist fanned out and he traced Keith's bicep, following it with his eyes. Up to his shoulder, he crossed over the clavicle and followed the line of Keith's neck. When Lance got to Keith's face he started. "Sorry. I didn't mean…" 

Keith certainly didn’t seem like he cared. “S’okay. Pretty sweet, huh?” 

Lance grinned. "Yeah. The sweetest." Lance was still cupping Keith's face, absent-mindedly rubbing circles with his thumb. This was dumb.  _ He _ was dumb. 

Keith attacked him, rejected him, threw him away, and saved his life, more than once. Lance couldn't figure him out. Did Keith even like him? Or did he only like him because Lance was apparently the first person he could talk to. He didn't mind being touched, but who wouldn't after twenty years? He was the epitome of touch starved. 

"Keith…" Lance sat back, putting some space between them. "Thanks. For last night. You saved me and my friends. Again." He carded a hand through his hair. He was so bad at this kind of thing. "But I don't understand anything. I don't understand  _ you _ . You wanted me to leave and now you're…" Lance didn't want to repeat Keith's words from last night, they were too bittersweet. 

Keith exhaled and closed his eyes, steeling himself. Lance deserved this, and Keith owed him an honest answer to any questions he had, but it still made him sick with guilt and trepidation. When he opened his eyes again, he fixed Lance with the most earnest expression he could muster. 

“I never wanted you to leave, Lance.” Come on, Keith. You can do this. “But I thought about what Pidge said and they had a point. It just...seems like such a waste for you to spend all your time here in this old house rather than out, you know, in the world. And I know you’re only here because being with me helps the pain, but I thought…” Keith trailed off and looked down, toying nervously with the sleeve of the flannel tied at his waist. “If you could get real help and feel better, you could go back to your life.” 

Did Keith think he was using him? Maybe he was, Lance realized with a start. How much was his affection for Keith real and how much was the relief Keith brought him? 

Lance pulled his knees to his chest. They were sharp under his jeans, all bone. If Keith was nothing more than aspirin, than he wouldn't have played dumb boardgames, or tried and failed to show off at skateboarding, or blush at the idea that could actually cuddle on the couch during movie night. No, there might be a part of him that knew staying close to Keith meant less pain, but he didn't need to become friends to do that. 

There wasn't a ‘ _ going back to his old life _ ’, there was only moving forward. "Even if I went back to school and became healthy, I wouldn't leave and forget about you. I couldn't. You're my friend."

Keith...didn’t really know what to do about that, but he did quirk a small smile. It grew sad, sliding into a frown as the word  _ friend  _ sank in. “You’re my friend, too - my first, honestly, besides my brother. But...eventually, this place is going to be more than dusty. It’ll start to fall apart. It’ll be dangerous.” That brought something else up that Keith knew he had to broach. It cut him, especially after what Lance had just said, but… 

Keith blew out his cheeks in a nervous huff. “There’s something else you should know. And you may not want to be around me anymore once you do.” 

Lance shook his head. "Pidge showed me. They shouldn't have and I've already talked to them multiple times about respecting your privacy. But, a few fistfights and juvie isn't so bad. My uncle got sent to juvie for being brown, so, you know. I'm pretty chill about prison records. I wouldn't judge you for them." 

“ _ What _ ?” Keith spluttered. “You...you read my  _ juvie  _ record? How did you even get that? It’s sealed at 18!” 

Lance winced. He should've let Keith finish because apparently what he was about to say had nothing to do with his record. "I think Pidge hacked the system. They thought I needed to know, I guess. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Pidge is sorry too. We're all sorry." 

“Jesus, Lance!” Keith sat back, feeling embarrassed, ashamed, and more than a little violated. “I told you you could just ask me! What in the hell was the angle there? I’d already agreed to try to get you to leave, was Pidge trying to make me into some kind of violent punk to scare you off?" 

Regret clenched at Lance’s heart. Stupid mouth. Stupid. Stupid.  _ Stupid _ . 

"Do you even care  _ why  _ I was getting the shit kicked out of me?!” 

As soon as he’d spit it out, Keith felt a cold, sinking sort of regret. Now, Lance was going to ask, and he’d have no choice but to tell him, and he  _ still  _ hadn’t brought up the part where it was his fault Lance was hurting… 

Keith stood and began to pace, carding a hand through his hair. 

Lance's self-deprecation was ground to a halt. "You?" He thought back to the papers he'd stuffed under the couch. He was pretty sure none of them said anything about Keith getting beaten up. "But, it said you were the one starting fights. There was even a written confession…" Lance remembered Keith's mugshot looked pretty awful. At the time he’d chalked it up to everyone getting hurt in a fight. 

“Of course it did,” Keith spat out, watching Lance’s gaze flicker between his arm and Keith. “Small town like this? If the Mayor’s son and all his rich little cronies have it out for you, no one’s going to believe the weird foreign punk with no friends. Not when daddy’s money can make everything go away.” 

The words were ice melting on his skin. Lance wanted to hug Keith, but instead of a physical barrier between them, there was an emotional one. He settled for hugging his legs tighter. "Why were they picking on you, though? From what I saw, you throw a mean punch. Wouldn't they want someone easier to bring down?" 

Easier to bring down, huh? 

As far as Keith was concerned, he had never been anything  _ but _ . 

It had been bad enough facing down the sneers and lewd jokes, the hissed warnings that he’d ‘leave the locker room if he knew what was good for him' after gym and trying to rinse off with the hose behind the school. Instead, he got detention for breaking into the shed. Had to deal with the whispers and wrinkled noses when he’d just started to not wash off at all so those boys couldn’t corner him. To stop eating in the lunchroom completely because of the staring, and eventually to stop eating altogether until he was home, since they always seemed to find him. That had been bad, but coming home to be more or less told he’d deserved it? That was worse. And if he was just going to get the snot kicked out of him at home for being weak and not “manning up,” then he might as well unleash hell. The first time he’d landed a punch was the happiest day he’d ever had at that fucking school. 

Getting lectured by his stepfather was awful. Seeing the disappointment in Shiro’s eyes was a thousand times worse. 

“Don’t let them get under your skin,” he’d told Keith. “They’re small people. Just hold your head high and be proud of who you are.” 

But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Because they had been right. 

Every time a knee connected with his gut, doubling him over and bringing up whatever he’d managed to eat, the hissed, toxic, hate-laced snarling of the word “faggot” in his ear before he growled and fought back - 

They were right. 

And with nowhere else to go, his only choice had been to stand there and take it, dishing it back whenever he could. 

Keith’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he looked over at Lance despairingly. Lance would already hate him for making him hurt. He might as well throw this out too. The cherry on the fucking cake. 

“Because I’m  _ gay _ , Lance.” Fuck, don’t cry, don’t cry. “And here, I guess, that means I ought to be locked up.” 

His eyes slid to the floor and nothing in the world could make him look back up. 

Two emotions flared up inside Lance. One was spitting hate for the people who’d abused Keith and the other was joy at Keith's sexuality. All odds were against him with his impossible crush, so he'd take any victory he could get. 

"I hate them," Lance said, unfolding and standing up to meet Keith. "They're the ones that deserve to be dead. I know I shouldn't say that, but I mean it, even if that makes me a horrible person. I hope they all die a slow and painful death and don't get to be a cool ghost like you." Lance reached out, placing a hand on Keith's shoulder. He ducked upside-down to look Keith in the eyes. It was a mimic of their skateboard incident and Lance hoped this time he could comfort Keith instead of upset him. 

The corners of Keith’s mouth twitched up in the first stirrings of a wary smile. “Until recently, I didn’t think being a ghost was all it was cracked up to be.” 

"Well, I think you're pretty cool." Lance used the hook of his finger to pull Keith's chin up. "You fight monsters, glow red, and you're really good at slumber party games. Plus, you fit in with our queer group." 

Lance could basically watch Keith’s brain short circuit. “Your...what?” Keith stuttered. 

If Lance had glasses he'd be looking incredulously over the top of them. "You don't know? Keith, buddy, we're not the quietest bunch about our queerness. I brought  _ Electronic Dream Phone. _ Not that boardgames…  _ Look. _ " Lance started over. "Hunk is the straightest one among us but he’s super comfortable with his feminine side. Pidge is non-binary and I'm, well, I’m pan, so…" Lance watched Keith's face become more and more confused. "You don't understand what the hell I'm talking about do you?" 

Keith shook his head, too flustered to do anything about the hair that action loosed in his face. He’d been so ready for Lance to pull away in disgust, not start speaking another language at him. 

"Wow, okay. You need a lesson in queer history, remind me later." Lance counted off on his fingers. "The long and short of it is, Pidge doesn't identify with any gender, boy or girl, and I like boys, girls, and all genders in between." He paused for a moment. "I guess that would include ghosts, now that I know they're real." 

Keith continued to gape at Lance, mouth working like a carp out of water. 

And then - he disappeared. 

Lance squawked. It sounded somewhere between a yell and choking. He circled, trying to find Keith. Talking to someone only to have them straight up  _ disappear  _ was not something Lance was used to. "What the fuck Keith! Where did you go?" Lance called to the empty room. 

Keith popped back into view, crouched on his bed like an awkward gargoyle with a grunge aesthetic. “I’m sorry! It was a lot to take in, I panicked!” 

Keith really did look like he was panicking. Lance had never had such a visceral reaction when telling someone his sexuality. "Does it bother you?" he asked, voice soft and free from accusations. 

“ _ Bother  _ me?” Keith widened his eyes. “No, of course not, it’s just...you’re the first person I’ve ever told. And to know that...that you, too...you also do…” He spread his arms helplessly, words failing him. “You know?” 

"Like to kiss boys?" Lance finished for him. "Yeah, I do. My first kiss was a boy, actually." 

Keith flushed. He knew he had. Whatever was making him solid apparently was also interested in allowing him to mimic all kinds of fun involuntary physical responses as well. “I uh...never did. Kiss. Anyone, I mean. Uhm.” 

Lance did his best to keep his emotions in check so they wouldn't reach his face. His heart fluttered and his whole body was full of those electric fireflies that accompanied Keith popping in and out of existence. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and looked at Keith through his eyelashes. "Would you wanna try?" 

Keith’s eyes flashed up and locked on Lance, fixing him with an intense, if incredulous, stare. He licked his lips, glancing down at Lance’s full and pink mouth. He felt his eyes hooding against his will. 

“I, uh...I never wanted to do it just to do it...you know?” Keith whispered. “I wanted it to be...with someone I care about.” 

_ Oh.  _ That hurt more than it should've. Lance was an idiot, putting himself out there without thinking. He'd thought that if Keith was gay, then all of his actions were what Lance would’ve read on anyone else as flirting. He thought that Keith might like him back despite the fact that he was alive. He was wrong. "I see," it came out pathetic and small. Lance stared at the floor, ignoring that any of this was happening. 

In the most Herculean effort of his real or afterlife, Keith forced himself to stand. Forced himself to close the distance between him and Lance. Forced a minutely trembling hand to come up and rub his thumb along Lance’s cheek. It got Lance to meet his eyes.

“Call me crazy,” he murmured. 

"You're crazy." Lance didn't dare move. If he breathed it might all shatter and they'd go back to pretending that there was nothing between them. All he cared about was how the distance was shorting between them. He brought his hands up, hovering in the air, not sure if he was allowed to touch. 

Something about that simple gesture made Keith brave. He caught one of Lance’s hands, pulling it to rest against his chest. Then he looked up at him through his lashes, searching all through the pacific blue of Lance’s eyes for any sign that he should stop. When he didn’t find any, he smiled a little and brought Lance’s free arm up to eye level so he would be sure to know what Keith was about to say. 

“I must be. Because the thing is…” Keith’s eyes started to fall closed and he leaned in, so close he could feel Lance’s breath against him. “Lance...I-" 

"Hey loser, lunch is ready." The door banged open making Lance scream and jump back, hand over his heart. 

"Don't you know how to knock?!" Lance's whole body ached at the interruption. 

Pidge covered their eyes and walked back out the door. "I didn't mean to walk in on ghost sex!" They said it much louder than necessary. 

Lance yelled just as loud because apparently they were all making sure Hunk could hear, "We're not having sex! Please don't come up here and have the talk,  _ again _ ." 

"I don't want to know about your supernatural sex life," Hunk called up from the ground floor. 

Keith had been laughing and Lance must have felt it against his skin because he looked down at his arm before glancing up at Keith. Despite his whole body still pulsing with a nervous electric heartbeat, he found himself grinning. Instead of defending them both, he just shrugged and wagged his eyebrows at Lance. 

"Not you too." Lance rolled his eyes. It was nice to see Keith so open and goofing around. Lance couldn't be upset. He followed Pidge out of the room with a play-huff. 

Moving on instinct, Keith reached forward and grabbed Lance’s hand. Two weeks ago, he would have died a second death at the thought, but between what had just happened and almost losing Lance...well, what the hell. 

He looked shyly down at their joined hands and back up at Lance. “This okay?” 

Lance blushed and nodded. He squeezed Keith's hand as they hopped over the second stair. 

Hunk had made a fantastic lunch, though it was closer to dinner now. Lance had slept through both breakfast and lunch, so he didn't care what they called it. He was actually hungry and wanted to eat, hissing voice be damned. 

There were sandwiches, juice boxes, and a bunch of snacks from the closest convenience store. It looked amazing, even if it smelled bad. He was getting used to eating food that smelled like shit.

He sat down at the same table they'd done their seance at and took a sandwich from the pile. 

Keith scooted his chair next to Lance, placing himself protectively nearby but relinquishing his hand so Lance could eat. He gave Hunk a quick smile that was ever so slightly strained when it turned to Pidge. 

“You guys sleep okay?” he asked politely, before forgetting he was mute and reliant on Lance’s arm to do the talking. 

"Keith wants to know if you slept," Lance said, opening his sandwich to inspect the inside. Pickles, safe. Lettuce, safe. Cheese was a no. He picked it off and while he was at it he pulled off the top slice of bread, setting both off to the side. After one final inspection, he tore the meat in half and added it to the discard pile. 

Keith looked at the pathetically small sandwich and bit his lip. He knew more than anyone that Lance hadn’t eaten much beyond ice cubes for days. If he kept this down, Keith would insist that he try a little more next time. 

He still had his eyes on Lance when Hunk piped up. “Good, man, thanks - you know, considering. So. Are we gonna talk about the chainsaw ghost now or later? And why it got Lance in his apartment, fifteen minutes away?” 

Pidge swallowed an enormous mouthful of sandwich. “How did it start, Lance?” 

Everyone seemed to focus on him and that made Lance really not want to eat. He picked at his sandwich, tearing off small crumbs of crust and shrugged. "What start? When I could sense ghosts, or when I started getting attacked, or when I started getting sick?" He sat back with a huff, crossing his arms. "I don't know how to answer that." 

“Maybe start at that last one and move backwards?” Pidge asked with what Keith thought was surprising tenderness. 

Lance wanted to go back upstairs and forget about all the horror that seemed to come along with finding Keith. This was going to be a long meal and he had no plans on taking a single bite while all eyes were on him. "The Sickness, huh?" He bit his lip thinking back. There wasn't really a start that he could remember. It'd been so slow. 

"I remember food smelling really bad." Lance held up the discarded meat. "This whole meal smells rotten and it's been like that for a while. Sometimes my mouth wouldn't open." He dropped the meat and looked down at his hands, picking at his fingernails. "I knew it wasn't me being my normal, finicky self, but I was scared." Their eyes felt like they were burning into his skull and he refused to look up. 

"Ever since I left Keith, it’s been rotting in my mouth. I was trying to eat a protein bar before the attack and when I spat it out, it was molding." He took in a shuddering breath. Why was everyone so quiet? Their silence made him feel like he needed to keep talking. 

"Before, when I was around Keith, it wasn't as bad. Not like at school." Lance pulled his legs onto the chair and hugged them. "I thought-- I didn't know… But, that  _ thing  _ came for me anyway, so it doesn't matter." 

“There’s something you should know,” Keith spoke up quietly. He glanced at Lance’s uneaten sandwich and grimaced. He’d hoped to do this privately, but it was now or never. 

“I met one of the other ghosts here after the first attack when I was in recharge. She told me…” He was twisting a napkin now, ripping it into little pieces. “Something ‘dark’ showed up here the day I died. It has to do with  _ how  _ I died. And evidently, I’m the only one here who has died that way.” 

For once Lance was relieved he didn't have to look at Keith when he was "talking". He read the words out loud, so everyone could hear. 

Pidge broke the silence, voice shaking, "What does that have to do with Lance being sick?" 

Was Pidge scared? Lance looked up through his bangs, just enough to see Pidge. They were standing half out of their chair and leaning forward, glaring at Keith. 

Keith held his hands up in surrender. “She said that whatever it is, it’s the thing that’s been turning the other ghosts here into monsters. I didn’t think it was directly connected to Lance until last night though.” 

Lance was growing hot and sweaty. His lie of omission burning under his skin. There was no way that was real. The image in the mirror was a hallucination, right? It didn’t matter. There was no time to talk about it. 

Pidge landed hard in their chair, waving their hands at Keith. "We were too late. We should've gotten Lance out of here sooner." 

"It couldn't be connected to Lance." Hunk shook his head slowly like he was rewinding his thoughts. "The cookies should've worked. I made sure he ate them. The only day…" 

All eyes turned to Hunk. When he noticed this, he blew out his cheeks and held his hands open in supplication. “So...my family. We’re uh, actually descended from witches? My mom and grandma are kitchen witches, so I am too. The cookies were for spiritual protection.” He stopped and looked at Lance - not accusatory, but definitely disappointed. 

“What, now witches are real? What else?! Vampires?” Pidge threw up their hands. 

Lance ducked his head. It wasn't his fault Hunk’s stupid cookies were magic. He thought they were just cookies. "You didn't say that. How was I supposed to know you’re a witch, you never told me.” There was a pang of betrayal. They were best friends and he kept this secret all these years. Guess friendship didn’t mean the same thing to everyone. 

"It's not something I throw around all the time." Hunk looked down, playing with his fingers. 

"But it's _ me _ Hunk. Not some random person at school." Lance wished he was someone Hunk could trust. Keith squeezed his hand and Lance looked up at him. Keith was a secret from Hunk, too. He wasn't blameless in this secret game, and Keith was just the beginning. He still had too many he couldn’t talk about. 

Hunk looked like he was about to cry. 

"Hey, I'm sorry. You were trying to look out for me and yourself." Lance played with Keith's hand. "I was doing the same thing." 

"This is not the same as Hunk's witchyness." Pidge gestured at Lance. "You should have eaten the magic cookies! Now look at you. You're--"

Hunk held up a hand to stop Pidge's tirade. 

“Magic or not, I can’t have cookies or cake or any of the sweets you make. I'm only supposed to have six small snacks." 

Pidge tisked. "Does it say that?" 

“Say what?” 

“Does it say that you’re supposed to eat six small snacks and never have sweets? Where did you find this crackpot diet anyway? Or did you just make it up? I bet he fucking made it up.” 

Lance glared down. They were supposed to talk about the ghosts and what to do about them. "Shouldn't we be coming up with a plan?" 

Hunk put his hand on Pidge’s shoulder. "It's fine, Pidge. He was following his diet." 

"No he wasn't. This happens all the time and I’m sick of it. He starts a diet then restricts it more and more until it's impossible to follow, crashes, and then goes and does it again. If he didn’t do that we wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

Lance sunk into his chair. He wanted to put his hands over his ears and block the whole conversation. This was all his fault. He should’ve just eaten the dumb cookies. Why didn’t he just eat the cookie? He put all his friends and all the people at school in danger. Lance stared at his sandwich while Pidge and Hunk argued about him. 

The table shook, rumbling enough to knock some of the empty juice boxes on their side. Hunk and Pidge looked to Keith as he stood up, one fist on the table and determined fire in his eyes. “Not. Helpful,” he grit out, and he knew they didn’t need to read Lance’s arm to know what he was saying. He dropped back into this chair and groped for Lance’s hand under the table. “It doesn’t matter what happened before, we need to focus on what to do now. That includes figuring out how to get enough into you,” he looked at Lance, “to keep you alive until we can fix this. It also apparently includes figuring out exactly how I died.” 

Lance nodded, squeezing Keith's hand. 

"What did he say?" Hunk asked as he righted the juice boxes. 

“Uh.” The words disappeared so Lance ad-libbed. “If we want to stop it we need to find out how Keith died.” 

Pidge threw up their hands. “We know how he died, he committed suicide. Next.” 

Keith’s grip on Lance’s hand tightened as he struggled to keep himself calm. If he didn’t know how much it scared and hurt Lance when he did, he already would have hurled a vase or something at Pidge - and gladly. “I didn’t. I didn’t kill myself.” 

“Is he saying no?” Pidge scoffed. “They found your body! You locked yourself in and turned your motorcycle on and just sat there breathing in the fumes until a fire started and -” 

“ _ I didn’t fucking kill myself!”  _ Keith roared, slamming his hand down again. “ _ I was murdered! _ ” 

Lance held his breath but the words showed up normal instead of cutting. He could still feel the frustration and anger behind them but the words themselves seemed controlled. “I believe him. I can feel it, he didn’t commit suicide. Something must’ve happened.” 

“Of course you agree with him,” Pidge grumbled. “He’s the only thing you talk about. You don’t even care about what’s happening in real life with your real friends anymore!” 

“Cut it out!” Hunk raised his voice, and everyone present deflated a bit. Hunk’s authoritarian voice had the habit of making anyone feel as if they’d just been ordered to time out, and Keith didn’t like that his mouth snapped shut automatically, face growing sullen. “Pidge, for starters, you need to knock that off right now. You know Lance better than that. Second, if Lance believes Keith, I believe Keith, or am at least willing to hear him out. Third, it’s not like we have any other leads right now, so everyone calm down, eat your sandwiches, drink your apple juice, and let the man explain himself.” 

Lance picked a corner of the sandwich and felt around his mouth until he found the invisible hole and pushed it in. It tasted like dirt and it took all his effort to swallow it without gagging. One bite down. “Maybe we should move somewhere where you can read my arms. I don’t really feel like translating.” 

“Give me your phone,” Keith told him, palm out. “Let me try something.” 

“Why?” Lance asked, but handed it over anyway. 

Keith took it and frowned at it while he considered, thinking back to all the things Lance had showed him that this thin little box could do. Concentrating on what he wanted to accomplish, he connected himself to the thing through invisible electric threads. 

“ No me suicidé. La señora dijo que morí de una manera que nadie más en la casa ha muerto,” the phone said. Keith shot Lance a glance that said  _ seriously?  _

Lance snorted and motioned for his phone. “Let me change the language.” He took the phone and adjusted the settings then handed it back. 

“Thank you,” the phone said in the most prim, British, decidedly-female voice possible. Well, fine. Evidently Keith was going to explain his demise as Mary fucking Poppins, but it was better than waiting for Lance to read or relying on his shitty summaries of everything Keith said. 

“When I spoke to the other ghost, Hattie, she told me that the dark thing was summoned the day I died here. She also told me it - stop  _ giggling,  _ Lance! - was because I had died in a way that no one else in the house ever has. Lance walked me back through them, and while there were plenty of suicides, no one else has been murdered. I also have some vague memories of my last moments, and I do remember someone else being there. At least standing in the doorway before it closed.” 

Pidge sat back. "This is becoming a lot, even for me." They pulled out their own phone. "I have all of Keith's records and nothing even points to foul play." They flicked through, presumably scanning Keith's records, and shook their head. "Nothing. I wouldn't even know where to start." 

"Do you seriously have Keith's records on your phone?" Hunk asked. 

"Yeah, I have everyone's records." It sounded more like a brag than a confession. "Your school record is more juicy than I would've guessed." 

Hunk grabbed for Pidge's phone, but they scrambled away and sat themselves a few chairs down. 

Hunk grumbled but settled back in his chair. "You know that's creepy, right?" 

"It's not creepy, it's practical. It lets me keep you two out of trouble.” Pidge pointed at Lance. “Why do you think Lance hasn't gotten kicked out yet?" 

"Aw, Pidge.” Lance put a hand to his chest. “That both warms my heart and terrifies me." Pidge grinned, and he hurried on. “That's not a compliment, but it was a thank you." 

"You welcome. It's what  _ true _ friends do." 

Hunk sighed. “As much as I want to talk about how Pidge’s creepiness level shot up--” 

“Hey, I’m not the secret witch.”   
  
Lance gave a low whistle. “Wow. They got you there.” 

“Can we focus?” The British robot-Keith said. 

Lance snorted. “With this group? Good luck.” 

Keith ran a hand through his hair in exasperation and he knew he looked like a mess of a crazy person, but he had gone from no one to talk to far too many people talking at once, talking about murder nonetheless - his murder specifically - and it was getting to be A Lot. “If anyone is interested in hearing it...I think I know who might have done it.” 

"That's convenient. Why didn’t you say so earlier?" Pidge rolled their eyes, stopped, and then gasped. "Wait, we have a dream come true. We get to ask a murder victim who their murderer was. I never thought I'd get to cross that off my bucket list." They stood up waving their hand in the air. "Pick me! Pick me!" 

Lance put his teacher face on and looked around the room. "Uh, Hunk." 

"Laaaance," Pidge whined. 

"Fine, Pidge. You get to be interrogator." Lance pointed at Pidge and gave Keith an apologetic shrug. 

"Yes!" Pidge pumped their fist in the air. They turned to Keith. "What do you remember from the night you were murdered." 

“My stepfather.” 

“Mmhm,” Pidge nodded solemnly. “Okay, and this so-called ‘stepfather,’ did he-“ 

The British robot voice did nothing to convey Keith’s impatience, exasperation, irritation, and general need to beat the shit out of something. “No. I mean my stepfather did it.” 

Pidge sulked. “Oh.” 

“What makes you so sure?” Hunk asked, looking at Keith with actual compassion, which was pretty damned appreciated since they’d been blithely describing the day he’d been immolated. “Not in like a challenging way, I mean literally what is it that you remember that made you say that?” 

This...wasn’t going to be a fun conversation and Keith was already getting tired fast. It took more effort and concentration than he’d realized to manipulate the phone. “He’s the only person I know who ever hated me.” He looked down, examining a knot in the old dining room table’s wood. “And I don’t mean that in a teenage angst kind of way, I mean he physically beat the shit out of me.” The words fizzed and crackled on the end. 

Lance reached out and took Keith's hand, wishing he could help Keith the same way Keith helped him. He gave Keith a little tug to get his attention. Once he caught his eye, he gave him a small smile to remind Keith he wasn't alone. 

While Keith was talking, Lance closed his eyes and tried to send energy through their hands. It was dumb yoga shit he’d learned that probably did nothing, but he felt better for trying. 

Keith had opened his mouth to explain his family situation, but a strange pulling sensation made him look down. He’d thought Lance was trying to get his attention again, but Lance wasn’t looking at him. Lance had his eyes closed, and from where their hands were connected, Keith’s palms were humming with blue light. He felt...better. More grounded. Less like he was made of erratic lightning and more like the rumbling thunder that came before a storm, with the deep upswelling power of a rolling ocean. 

He wasn’t sure the others could see it, since they certainly would have said something, but Keith knew for certain this was coming from Lance, that Lance was the one feeding him this imagery, filling and soothing him. It was a little overwhelming. He trailed off until Hunk prompted him gently to go on. 

“Uh...right. Sorry,” he said. “The short version is that mom remarried when I was really young, like four, and my stepfather never liked me. He resented that I guess I look like my dad, that mom spoiled me, that I never took after Shiro, I don’t know. He gave me shit for the stuff I liked as a kid. Said it would make me grow up a…” His eyes narrowed and he spit the word at the table. “A fag. Guess that was pretty unthinkable, so he started pushing me around to toughen me up.” 

Lance stuttered in his meditation, eyes flying open. "That is not okay." He pulled on Keith until he relented, getting up from his spot on the table. Lance pulled him down so he was sitting on his lap and wrapped his arms around him. "You don't have to tell us this if you don't want to." 

There was that weird blushing sensation again. Keith chewed his lip and tried to figure out what to do with his hands. Did he put them on Lance’s? Did they go in his lap? He settled for crossing his arms. “No, you need to know, or you won’t believe me. No one knew. I didn’t want mom or Shiro to know the truth.” He sucked his lip back in as he thought. “That’s the sum of it anyway. Mom was always out of it on painkillers or whiskey to drive away the pain from working in the service, Ryou was abusive and controlling and definitely enjoyed his liquor, and Shiro basically raised me. Shiro knew his dad had anger issues, but the rest I...I just blamed on my fights at school. Or being clumsy or skateboarding or something.” Sitting there with his arms crossed now felt stupid and he relaxed them, not returning the embrace, but easing the tension in his body just a bit. 

Lance whispered into Keith's ear, "I believe you." He hesitated, breathing in Keith, then brought his hand up to Keith's neck and massaged it. Did Keith have muscles? No, probably not, but he hated when his friends were in such obvious pain. 

He turned to Pidge and Hunk who wore various levels of uncomfortable on their faces. Whether that was because of Keith's story or the PDA, Lance wasn't sure. "So, how do we find Ryou and ruin his life? Do we have to sacrifice him to the house or?" Lance let the sentence hang. 

“Okay one, we aren’t sacrificing anybody.” Hunk held up his fingers and ticked them off. “Two, we’re going to have to find some way to prove it. Three, are we sure we need to like...seek revenge or whatever to make the bad thing stop attacking Lance? Four - wait, three point five - why does Keith’s murder monster thing only attack Lance? Five...no, just kidding, this one is number one.” He looked at Keith with grim sincerity. “That’s really awful, and I’m sorry you went through that.” 

Even Pidge looked squeamish and shifted in their seat. “...Well. Finding someone isn’t the problem. I can do that easy. But Hunk’s right. We need to be sure, and then figure out what to do about it. Any ideas?” 

Keith hadn’t really been listening. He was still thrumming from the way Lance had whispered in his ear. “...Huh?” he asked, dumbly, but the British phone woman just made an approximation of that sound unlike anything a real person ever said. “Uh. Well.” Keith shifted, uncomfortable, and was now very grateful for Lance and his touch and the strong, dark ocean inside him. “...I guess...we start by going in the garage.” 

Lance ran his hand from Keith's neck to his hip bone and pulled him so that Keith was leaning wholly against his chest. He stroked his thumb against the small of his back. If only he could wrap around Keith like a blanket. Keith was so nervous it was leaking into Lance's own emotions. There had to be a way of figuring this out without making Keith go through painful memories… 

"Oh!” Lance looked at Pidge. “That's right, I found his Facebook a while ago. You know, when you found that marriage certificate? I found a Facebook for Ryou," he turned to Keith, "and your brother. You could look at those first before we go to the place where, you, y’know…" 

Keith tensed in Lance’s lap. It still unnerved him, how much Lance knew. It felt invasive in a way he hadn’t expected, like the chance to tell him things on his own had been taken away. But, Keith supposed, that probably just came with being dead. No one owed you the sanctity of privacy anymore. 

“What’s a Facebook,” he asked, feeling raw, and sulky, and scared. 

Pidge snickered into their hand. "A place for moms to share Minion memes." 

Lance wanted to fidget with all of Keith's nervous energy pouring into him, but couldn't since Keith was taking up any wiggle room. 

"Not wrong, but not helpful." Lance took his phone from Keith and opened the app. He handed it back for Keith to hold and navigated for him. "Here's Ryou." Lance clicked the profile and clicked again on Shiro's locked profile. "And here is your brother." 

Keith...froze. That was the only way to describe it. 

His hand hovered over the picture of his brother, so much older now, hair gone entirely white. He had a noticeable scar across his face and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was still handsome, but he looked like a stranger. It was too surreal to be a happy moment, and the complex mix of emotions made him feel as if his insides were all twisted metal and clockwork gears. 

One of those sparks that functioned as tears fell from his eyes and fritzed on the face of Lance’s phone. 

"Uh, we're going to check on the thing. C'mon, Pidge," Hunk said, standing up. 

"We are?" Pidge looked between Hunk and Keith. "Yeah, I guess we are," they said, resigned. 

"Come get us when you're done, okay?" Hunk called over his shoulder. 

Lance bit his lip. Maybe he should go too. This seemed like a really private moment. The only problem was, he was stuck. "I can go." Lance tried to wiggle out from under Keith. 

“No!” Keith turned to look at him, nearly dropping the phone. “No, don’t - it’s just -” The tears slid down unchecked, but he was more overwhelmed than actively sad. “...He looks so different...he’s so old now, and I haven’t - I wasn’t -” 

Lance had no idea what to do. This was something he could only imagine the horror of. He hadn't thought about the impact that seeing his brother would have. He thought Keith'd be excited or happy or curious. Lance did the only thing he knew; he wrapped Keith in his arms, hugging him tight. He rocked as he sang, " _ Sana, sana, colita de rana. Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana. _ " 

Ryou had forced Keith to take Latin in high school instead of Spanish, and he now found that he regretted it. He wanted to know what Lance was saying, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Lance had a good voice, low and sweet, that soothed him. If he’d been a little more in control of his emotions then, Keith would have been embarrassed by what he did next: turned in Lance’s lap, buried his face into the crook of his neck, and let go. He didn’t want to cry those weird sparks onto Lance’s skin, but he did let himself shake and sob and, for the first time in twenty years, really feel the horror of being dead before his time. 

He hadn’t had a reason to think of it before. He had been alive, and then he wasn’t. He didn’t know how he got there, but he knew he was dead and it was over. That had brought with it a kind of numbness that had never gone away, a numbness which was thawing and which left him feeling like his heart had third-degree burns. Everything felt hypersensitive. He was a mess and he knew it but...if it was going to happen, at least it was happening in the arms of the first boy he had ever truly cared about. 

“I don’t want to be dead,” he admitted, and it spilled out like magma, leaving him inside-out and wrecked. “I don’t want to be dead, Lance, I don’t want to be dead.” 

"I know. I'm sorry. I know." Lance held the shaking Keith and wished with everything he had inside of him for some way to help. Maybe Hunk could teach him necromancy. He rubbed Keith's back, stroked Keith's hair, and  _ wished.  _

Something shifted inside him, like a door that was shut cracking open. He could feel Keith, electric and buzzing on the other side. He reached through, but couldn't get far. It was enough. Lance pushed what he could through that crack; the warmth Keith gave him, the way he felt blinking up into dark eyes in the early dawn, the friendship they'd forged over the past month. He sent as much through the crack as he could fit, because he didn't want Keith to be dead either, but he wanted Keith to know that he was wanted even after death. 

“...Lance?” 

Keith pulled back, knuckling at his eyes, hair disheveled. He was blinking through the distortion, staring hard at the back of his hand. Lance could see the moment something must have registered because his eyes grew wide. With the nacre oil-slick of electric tears still on his cheeks, Keith held his hand up for Lance to see. 

_ It doesn’t change anything,  _ it said, followed by  _ You're becoming home.  _

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Keith whispered, and he knew Lance didn’t need to see his arm to understand what he was asking. “...This is from you.” 

Lance shook his head, more in disbelief than denial. "It can't be. I'm not a ghost." But those were his feelings, more or less, written and slowly fading from Keith's skin. "How?" 

“I don’t know...I never knew to begin with.” Keith looked almost sad when his hand was bare again. Then his eyes softened at the implication of the words he had read and he knew his face had colored. 

"Oh my God." Lance hid behind his hands. This was way too personal. He wanted to comfort Keith, not spill his guts. There were still so many unknowns between them. What if the Sickness was the reason he could do ghost magic? That thought made his stomach turn. He didn't want his feelings tainted by the thing trying to kill him. If that was true then, once they got rid of it, would he lose his connection to Keith? He groaned and tried to hide more. 

Now that he was calming down a bit, Keith realized exactly where he was sitting and squirmed a little, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Uh...do you, um, want me to move?” 

Lance needed to tell him. He couldn’t handle the implications if their entire strange and wonderful connection was based on the demon that was torturing him. He shook his head no, then nodded. 

"I want to show you something, but I don't know if you'll be able to see it." Lance gently nudged Keith to standing. He reached for his hand, but drew back before they touched. Keith was about to learn the truth and after he knew, he might not want to touch someone so disgusting. "Follow me." 

The sudden change in mood was sobering, drawing Keith’s brows together as he obeyed. 

Lance lead the way upstairs to the bathroom. Stopping outside the door, he turned to Keith. He opened his mouth to explain everything away or to beg Keith not to find him gross, but all he could do was clamp his mouth shut and open the door. 

“Why are we in the bathroom?” Keith started to ask, but then his eyes caught their reflection in the mirror and he knew exactly why. 

_ This was it,  _ Lance thought,  _ It’s over. _ He couldn’t bring himself to look; he’d seen it enough times, he didn’t need to see it again. He didn’t  _ want  _ to. There was no way he was going to watch Keith’s face grow disgusted and distant. 

Keith had seen a lot of fucked-up, terrible things since he had died in the Red House. None of them compared to this. 

Like a warped funhouse mirror, their reflections shifted when they moved. One second it was Lance, all blue eyes and disheveled hair, then it was - nothing. The outline of Lance, the flesh of Lance, but it was as if his skin had been stretched over a skeleton, all jutting bone, with no facial features besides sunken, hollow cheeks and a pinprick of a mouth. His skin was puckered and brittle around that meager opening, and it opened and closed hungrily with a sick little pulse. 

Then there was Keith himself. Standing on his right leg, he looked just like he had the last day he’d checked his reflection in this same mirror alive. Standing on his left, he was a skeletal frame with his flesh charred, peeling, sloughing off in embering slabs. The skin was burned away from his face in places and he could see his smoky black skull in the endless grin of death. 

Keith couldn’t help himself. He wrenched away from the sight, grabbing Lance’s hand and dragging him from the bathroom before sinking down against the hallway wall outside. He brought Lance down with him and hid his face in his free hand, still clutching Lance with the other. “What the fuck,” he mumbled shakily. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.” 

Lance let himself be dragged down. He was right, Keith hated him, now. Who wouldn’t? He was a monster. It was a miracle Keith was still touching him. Lance pulled away. He wanted to get this over with; let Keith reject him. The faster it was over, the faster he could start mending. 

Keith had tried to swallow down his fear and say something rational, but he knew he would never, ever be able to forget those images - and for the dead, that could very well mean “ever.” Words didn’t come to mind. All he could do was yank Lance close and crush him to his chest. 

“We’re gonna figure this out,” he managed. “We’re gonna...gonna fix this. I promise.” 

_ Oh.  _ Lance clung to Keith.  _ Oh,  _ was all he could think. The door inside him let parts of Keith through. Instead of the distant pool of emotions he’d grown used to, it was a stream that mingled inside him. He let it fill him. It wasn't as if Keith was calm, there was fear and anguish mixed in, but there was also something bright and comforting. Lance bathed in it. 

He didn't even realize he was crying until Keith tilted his face up, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "I'm sorry," it came out rusty and raw. 

“It’s okay,” Keith said, letting Lance read his lips so they wouldn’t have to break eye contact. “Please don’t cry.” It was simpler than ‘I can’t handle seeing you cry, it tears me apart’ but hopefully Lance would see it in his eyes. 

“Uh, guys? You done yet?” Hunk called from the foyer. 

“I’m tired of waiting,” Pidge added. 

Lance huffed a laugh through his tears and fanned them away. “Do I look like I've been crying?” 

Keith chuckled. Lance was the most dramatic creature he’d ever encountered, and he never failed to surprise. “Well, if you do, they’ll blame me, and if they blame me, not like they can beat me up.” He stood and offered Lance his hand. “On your feet, dweeb.” 

Lance looked up from his arms and stuck out his tongue, but he took the offered hand. The comment made him instantly defensive of Keith. No one was ever going to hit him again, not on Lance’s watch. 

Hunk and Pidge were looking bored and anxious when they entered. 

Hunk looked them up and down and frowned. "What happened?" 

“We eloped, Lance is pregnant, and I used my ghost magic to empty your bank accounts,” Keith said with a shrug, waiting for Lance to read his arm. This was less convenient but it was nice to not A. be a British female and B. to keep some comments between the two of them again. 

Lance snorted. “Just ghost things,” he translated. “Did you come up with a plan without us, or are we still at square one?” 

“Hunk thinks we should go into the garage. I vote we try and hack Ryou. So, I guess it's up to you.” Pidge leaned against the wall, crossing their arms. “I trust you’ll vote for my plan.” 

Lance looked to Keith, not sure what he was up for after all that. 

Keith was staring at the floor. “I haven’t...been back to the garage. Since it happened.” 

"Why don't we split up?" Lance was quickly getting used to reading Keith's emotions.; they were a lot clearer than before. Keith was already a thread strung too tight. "Keith can get inside electronics, so he can help Pidge. Then me n'you can check out the garage." He nodded at Hunk. "And hopefully one of us will find something to work with." 

“No,” Keith said softly, then again with more conviction. “No. I need to be the one to go to the garage. I have to be the one to face this.” He kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets. He’d already been clinging to Lance like a lifeline all day, and it made him uncomfortable to have the other two staring them down whenever he did, but  _ God _ did he wish he could. Everything, including his clothes, the sensation of skin, felt too big for him. “No one has to come with me.” 

“Yeah, right,” Lance scoffed. He didn’t like this one bit. “Fine. We all go in together or no one at all.” He crossed his arms. This was a hill he was willing to die on. 

Keith swelled and dimmed - the ghost version of taking in a deep breath and letting it out again. He knew his reserves weren’t what they probably would need to be, but he didn’t think now was really the time to be pulling from Pidge’s electronics. He also wasn’t very comfortable asking if Pidge would bring the twin Tesla coils out since he wasn’t sure what sort of ground he was treading on with them. Hopefully...hopefully it would be enough. 

“Um,” he said, for Lance and no one else. “You’re staying tonight, right?” 

Lance closed his eyes, finding the door inside him and instead of pushing emotions he thought as hard as he could,  _ Of course.  _

He blinked down at Keith's arms to see if anything happened. 

Keith’s lips tugged into an almost imperceptible smile as he lifted the back of his hand to show the words to Lance before rubbing at his nose to play the gesture off. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.” 

Lance nodded. "Let's do this," he repeated. 

"Ugh," Pidge moaned. "Fine. But I'm hacking him tonight." 

"We're counting on it." Hunk ruffled their hair. 

Pidge whacked him away, but couldn't hide a small smile. 

—- 

They were all gathered around the garage door looking at one another. It was Hunk who had the courage to turn the knob and they all piled in. 

Lance blinked at the shift. It was pitch black just as he’d left it. The same thin light glowing under from the crack where the sliding door met the concrete. There was an eerie silence, like the room swallowed sound in a way the rest of the house didn’t. Above everything, the lingering smell of ashes and motor oil. It would almost be pleasant, like a campfire burned low, if not for the knowledge that it wasn’t marshmallows that were roasted here. 

Three phones lit up simultaneously as they turned on their flashlights. Not much had changed, evidently, since the...incident. Everything was scorched and covered in a thick layer of soot. It had been well organized, and though it still held some of the architectural features that showed it was once the carriage house, it just looked like any other suburban family garage - just covered in Rorschach ink blotches. There was a hose, a few lawn chairs, and in the middle - 

It was fire-marked but unmistakable. Under the cracked leather and sooty metal was Keith’s motorcycle. Lance knew enough to know it must have been a Harley or something and not the buzzy fast kind, but otherwise, all he could tell was that it had been red. 

Lance winced, clutching his heart. He felt out of breath and shaky. He turned to see Keith still in the doorway, flickering and glitching in and out of existence. This wasn't good. He knew they shouldn’t have come here so soon. 

"Keith," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. At the same time, he reached through to try and comfort him. It was a mistake. Lance choked on lungs full of thick, oily smoke. He pulled back from their link, gasping for breath. 

Keith didn’t react. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, obviously gritting his teeth, fighting against something none of the living in the room could see. 

“Hey,” Pidge called, shining their flashlight on Keith. It shone against the back wall like Morse code as Keith flickered in and out of solidity. “Everybody okay over there? What’s going-“ 

The garage shook like an earthquake, tools and buckets and supplies rattling loudly as they crashed to the floor. A low groaning sound swelled up from beneath the house. 

Fear, betrayal, and confusion poured into Lance. He slammed to his knees. When Keith was this out of control it was hard for Lance to know where he ended and Keith began. He tried to calm down, but the emotions were a wildfire, burning everything in their path. Distantly he could feel Hunk touching him, but everyone was so far away. 

“No,” Keith said, and when he repeated it, it was a hoarse, desperate scream, his voice coming from him but also the middle of the room - loud enough for everyone to hear it. The voice was like vinyl, all rasp and scratch, and distorted noise. “ _ No! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  _

The fire caught Lance’s sleeve first and then his jeans. It crackled and ate its way across his skin. Blisters formed and popped as the skin peeled away to reveal red muscle and white bone. Lance screamed a mirror of Keith’s words. They spoke out of time, like a video off sync. Tears fell from his eyes, only to evaporate in the blaze around him. 

From beneath their feet, the shadows began to rise and take form. 

Keith’s screaming continued, but it wasn’t coming from him. It was the memory on playback in the room, nothing but the snap and roar of flames and inhuman wailing. His eyes snapped open and locked on Lance. 

“Run,” he tried to yell, but it cracked. “Run!” 

Hunk grabbed Lance and ran straight through Keith, Pidge hot on his heels. As soon as they passed through the doorway Lance stopped screaming. Hunk turned and held up his hand, drawing an intricate pattern in the air. Keith seemed to solidify, though he was still locked in the loop of the room. Pidge slammed the door shut. 

As soon as it closed, the fear, the shaking, the screaming - all of it stopped, as if the door had cut a thread. Keith was released from the vice, his whole being pulsing and weak. He rushed to Lance and started looking him over. 

“Okay,” Hunk wheezed. “New plan. Don’t. Go into. The garage.” 

“Motion seconded. This is why we hack things,” Pidge said, wiping the sweat off their glasses. “But what do we do now?” 

Keith didn’t have the capacity to say much as he turned Lance’s head around gently, inspecting his neck and along his arms. 

“We go to sleep.” Today was vying for the worst day of Lance’s life. He was done; today was officially canceled. Lance winced as he stood, leaning against Keith. 

Hunk and Pidge shared a look that Lance didn’t have the energy to interpret. They were sharing so many looks these days that he wasn’t sure he cared even if he  _ did _ have the energy. 

“In Keith’s room?” Pidge asked, voice soft. 

“We were thinking we should all sleep together,” Hunk said louder as if trying to erase Pidge’s sentence. “Especially after that, it might be a good idea if we stick together.” 

“Guys,” Lance started, but was too tired to finish. “Sorry.” He shook his head. There was no way he could explain why he needed to be with Keith after that. From an outsider’s perspective, he could see why his friends were concerned, but he could  _ feel _ Keith. He knew he’d lived Keith’s death and the only person who understood what he went through was, well, Keith himself. 

“Lance.” Hunk took a step forward as if to take Lance from Keith’s arms. 

Keith stepped away, leaving Lance to Hunk. “No,” he croaked and walked back towards the garage. 

Lance panicked. The char of his own flesh was still seared into his nostrils. “What are you doing?” 

Keith looked at him over his shoulder, saw the fear in his expression. He closed the distance between them and took one of Lance’s hands, searching for that tender, still-new cord that had become their intimate two-lane highway. Through it, Keith sent his fear - not for himself, but for Lance. He was already dead. It was frightening and draining and intense, but it was over for him. Lance was running out of time, and Keith wasn’t going to allow him to suffer anymore, which meant going in to face whatever was waiting. No matter how tired he was. 

The connection stuttered and drifted away as Keith faded into exhausted translucence. He looked up at Lance with pleading eyes. He was too tired to talk, so he just pointed at Lance’s chest, beseeching him through mussed bangs and dimming eyes to understand.  _ For you _ . He thought.  _ No time. For you.  _

“No, you can’t.” Lance grabbed for him, but his hand passed through. “Didn’t you see what happened? It’s too dangerous.” He turned beseeching eyes on Pidge and Hunk for help. “Right?” He mimed a poor copy of Hunk’s spell. “Do something to stop him!” 

“Lance is right, Keith,” Hunk said gently, waving him back. “Let’s regroup and recharge then figure out a plan. You’re not alone in this, okay?” 

Keith hesitated before his whole posture slumped as he relented. He was...tired. He was just so damn tired. It had been the biggest emotional rollercoaster of a day he’d ever had in his life or afterlife. “Okay,” he said aloud for Lance’s benefit. 

Lance sighed in relief. “Let’s get you upstairs.” He was exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep. 

“I know you’re really tired,” Hunk said, placing a hand on Lance’s back, “but we need to discuss this.” 

He owed Hunk for talking sense into Keith so he nodded. “Give me a bit.” 

“We’ll meet in the living room.” Hunk stepped back to let Lance take Keith to his room. 

Keith had already faded to a hazy shadow. “Meet you upstairs,” he said to Lance apologetically before shimmering out of sight. 

He was sitting on his bed, solid again but still near to crashing, when Lance pushed open the door. Keith raised his eyes, wishing he could offer a comforting smile, but he was just so numb. He rose to his feet when Lance shut the door behind him. “What happened to you? In there? I couldn’t see.” 

Lance rushed forward, squeezing him tight. "I'm so sorry. I get it now. I know." He brushed Keith’s hair back from his face. "I lived it, but you died there. I didn't get that before, not really. Not like now." 

Keith reeled back like he’d been smacked. “What do you mean you  _ lived  _ it? Did you...could you... _ feel  _ it?” 

Lance nodded. "I think I was living your memory. There were shadows, but all I can remember is the pain and the smell." He wrinkled his nose. A smell like that wouldn't leave him for a long time. 

“Oh God Lance.” Keith’s face crumpled and he pulled Lance to him in a bruising embrace. “I’m so sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” 

"Me?" Lance glared. " _ You _ ." His glare melted into a pout. "You tried to do that to yourself  _ again _ . I couldn't-- I can't-- What if you disappeared forever?" 

“So what?” Keith shrugged. “I’ve been stuck here for twenty years. I’m dead. You’re not. I can’t let you get hurt just because of me, and before you argue, yes this is all because of me. It’s my fault you’re…” his face crumpled as he looked over Lance’s too-thin frame. “Sick. Starving.” 

Lance clamped his mouth shut. He had started to let himself believe that they could happen. That he could let his feelings grow and be returned. Keith felt more right than life itself. He was the first truth Lance had ever known; everything else seemed secondary. 

In that moment, Lance realized that death didn't seem so scary if it meant an eternity with Keith. If all this ended in his demise, at least he knew what happened next. "It's fine. I'm handling it." 

The emotions washing over Keith, not his own, were an uncomfortable mix: dejected, sad, resigned...and something not so bad that Keith recognized but didn’t know how to name. He shook his head angrily. “You don’t get it, do you? Now you know how I died, but guess what - that? All that? That’s just pain, Lance, that’s nothing. Losing you?” He stepped closer, running a thumb over Lance’s cheek. “ _ That  _ would kill me.” 

Lance brushed his hand away and stared a hole into the floor. He wanted to shake some sense into Keith and sweep him away from this hell of a house all at once, but he couldn’t do either, so he clenched his fists instead. "If you think I'm the kind of person who would be fine if you sacrificed yourself, then you don't know me." It wasn’t fair that Keith was perfectly happy with putting himself in danger and let Lance risk losing him, but refused to be put in the same situation. “You’re taking this all on yourself, like...like, you’re some kind of martyr! Well, I’m not a damsel in distress, so, you can either grow some self-preservation or you’re off the team.” 

Keith dropped his hand awkwardly and chewed on his lip. When he was alive, it had been a nervous habit; his lips had always been chapped and he ripped his nails to the nub. This body he had now - his but not his - responded pretty much like before, apparently. His lips, when he pursed them, were rough. 

“I…” He blew out his cheeks and started again. “I’m...sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never...besides Shiro, no one’s ever…” Keith gestured between the two of them, awkward and useless. “You know.” 

God, did Keith have to break his heart every time he talked about his life? “You don’t just have me. You have Hunk and Pidge too. We’re all…we all care about you.” 

Keith raised a skeptical eyebrow. “They think I’ve made you crazy and am ruining your life.” 

"Maybe a little, but that's because they're worried about me. Pidge thinks you're the coolest thing since the internet and Hunk, well, Hunk is Hunk. He likes everyone." Lance shrugged. "I can tell they like you. It’s just that they’re as lost as we are about what to do.” He looked up at Keith, searching his eyes. “Do you?” 

“Do I what? Know what to do?” 

“Think you’re ruining my life?” 

Keith sighed and sat heavily on the bed. Did he think that? The honest answer was yes. Lance hadn’t asked for any of this and now his life was in very real danger. The bigger question was whether Keith was strong enough to let Lance walk away. 

He knew the answer to that too. 

Threading his fingers into his hair and burying his head in his hands, Keith muttered, “I think...I’m selfish. And even if I am ruining your life, I still don’t want you to go.” 

Lance sat down next to him, leaning forward so he could look at Keith’s face. “Good. Because I’m the only one who gets to decide who is or isn’t ruining my life and I say that you’re not. Fight me.” 

Keith relented and let his head thunk heavily against Lance’s shoulder. “Can’t. Too tired. You win.” 

“That’s right. Now, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Lance put his head on top of Keith’s, feeling the soft hairs tickle his cheek. 

“Can’t Pidge bring in the tube things? I don’t want to leave you unguarded.” Keith had been about to lift his head and frown at Lance, but he felt too good tucked into his neck, and whether he wanted to or not, he was fading - literally. “...At least stay with Hunk? He kept those monster things from getting out of the garage. Promise?” 

Lance cringed; he knew exactly what was waiting for him downstairs. At least one of them could rest. “I promise. G’night,  _ mi corazón _ .” His heart pounded in his chest at his confession of sorts. Blushing, he turned to kiss the top of Keith’s head. Every one of his nerves was lit up and he was hypersensitive to all the places they were touching. He closed his eyes and leaned down only to be met with air. He blinked into a scattering of fireflies that let him know Keith was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's the best beta? Mintusti!!
> 
> Autumn: I love my child of many, many teeth. 
> 
> Sail: Hey, you. Yeah, you! *hugs* (everyone who wants one gets one for making it all the way here) You, even those of you who don't comment or kudos, I want you to know I appreciate you. You're really cool for taking the time out of your day to read our humble story. So, thanks :heart: Also... The whumpicorn is getting thirsty, so please donate your tears to its jar!
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: Finally <3 
> 
> Sail: CW: suicide, other than that, enjoy. you've earned this.
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

Lance had put off the inevitable for another ten minutes of sitting on Keith’s bed before resigning himself to his fate and heading downstairs. 

Hunk and Pidge were both sitting on the couch scrolling on their iPads, picking at a bag of chips between them. When they heard his footsteps, Pidge looked up, shifted, and looked back down at their tablet. Lance didn’t miss the way Pidge kicked Hunk under the coffee table, as if they were being subtle. 

“Oh hey buddy,” Hunk said with a smile. “Keith asleep?” Lance nodded. “Like the dead.” He shot finger guns at Hunk that had no passion behind them. 

“Okay, good, because we need to talk about this basically yesterday,” Pidge said, tucking their tablet into their backpack. Hunk sobered up too. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” Lance sat on the floor, resting back on his hands. “Do your worst. Nothing could be as bad as today.” 

Pidge opened their mouth to speak but Hunk held up a hand to stop them. He leaned forward and tried to catch Lance’s eyes. “So, you gonna tell us what’s going on with you and Keith?” 

Lance shrugged. “You already know everything. He was really freaking out about whatever thing was released when he died. He didn’t even care that he almost flickered out of existence, but I talked to him about that. He promised me he’d be a little less reckless about throwing himself at death-squared.” 

Hunk’s expression was soft but his tone was gentle and firm. “You know what I meant. Wanna tell us about all this touchy-feely-ness and why Keith was kissing your hair instead of watching  _ Shaun of the Dead _ ?” 

“What?!” Lance blushed from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair. “He kissed me?” He looked between his two friends, mouth open. At their earnest nods, he curled into a ball, hiding his face. “He kissed me,” Lance whispered to himself, touching his head. 

“Okay, A, on the head, whatever, B, not the point, Romeo.” Pidge crossed their arms. “At the beginning of the semester you didn’t think ghosts were real, and now you’re practically making out with one.” 

Lance tucked his head into his knees, hugging them close and hiding his smile. "We're not making out. I didn't even know he kissed me. Was it, like, a friendly kiss or do you think he likes me?" 

"That's  _ not _ the  _ point _ ," Pidge ground out. 

"Lance," Hunk said, cutting Pidge off. "We're worried. If it was anyone else, you know we'd be supportive of you, but Keith is…" 

"Dead," Pidge finished. At Hunk’s glare they threw their hands up. "What? That's what this is about, isn't it? We might as well rip the bandaid off." 

Lance's insides turned cold and his smile fell off his face. All joy at this revelation ripped from him by one simple word. "I know he's dead. I'm not stupid," Lance said, flatly. 

"Could'a fooled me." 

"Pidge!" Hunk stood up, taking command of the conversation by pointing at Pidge. “If you’re going to be like that, then you're not helping. And you.” He rounded on Lance. “Need to take this seriously. This isn't a game and it's not a simple schoolyard crush. I don't know what you're thinking, but what are you going to do when you keep aging, huh? Or when the house crumbles or gets bulldozed. What about your family? Are you going to bring your mom here and introduce her to Keith?” Hunk sagged a little, and even if his words were stern, his eyes were achingly compassionate. “Lance. Buddy. You know we want you happy but...just doesn’t seem like there’s much chance of a future with this." 

Lance stared wide-eyed at Hunk. It was very similar to Keith's concerns and if things were different, he would've listened. As it stood...it didn’t really matter. Not the way they thought it would. 

Well, no one needed to know that he didn't plan on surviving. Not anymore. He knew he already had one foot in the grave and it was only a matter of time. Today had proven that pretty clearly. 

"I'm not planning for there to be a future, don't worry." 

“Uhh that’s not as comforting as you probably meant for that to be.” Hunk’s face scrunched in concern. 

“How come he can talk on your arm but none of ours?” Pidge piped up, momentarily distracted from Lance’s posthumous romantic liaisons by the physicality of actual ghosts. 

“I Googled that, but couldn’t find anything. Keith doesn’t know his own powers, so he might be able to once he figures out how he does it.” Lance rubbed his chest. The door that was opened inside him felt different when Keith was asleep. He quirked his head. “Maybe you need to piss him off like I did and you’ll get a link too.” 

“Do you love him?” 

All eyes looked to Pidge. They stared at Lance like they were looking down a sniper scope. 

“What?” 

“I said,” Pidge repeated irritably, “Do you love him? Because I’ve seen you fall all over everything with a pulse, but never like this, and you just spend all your time here in a condemned building, living here like a homeless person, and now your stupid diet is going way too far AND ghosts are attacking you all the time and I just - doesn’t it just -  _ GAH _ !” 

With a frustrated huff, Pidge hurled themselves into Lance’s arms and squeezed tight around his fragile middle. Burying their nose into Lance’s shirt, Pidge mumbled, “Just don’t wanna lose you.” 

Lance brought his arms around Pidge. He didn’t know how to answer, as there was too much he didn’t understand himself. All he could do was pull Pidge closer. “I don’t want to lose you either, you stupid hedgehog.” Though he wasn’t sure what choice he had in the matter. 

Lance looked up at Hunk who was practically in tears and held up his arm. Hunk barreled in and knocked them all over. They all laid on the floor hugging until Lance lost track of time. 

That was where Keith found them when he came to and went wandering. He took a look at the pile of people cuddled up on the dusty pink rug on the old wooden floor, a small smile tugging at his lips. It took some effort and some creative rearranging, but he managed to get the clean blankets from his bed tucked around them to at least help with the October chill. Pulling the covers over Lance and Pidge, he couldn’t resist brushing his knuckles across Lance’s lightly freckled forehead, totally unmarred in sleep. He looked peaceful for once, and when he quietly snored, Keith’s smile warmed. 

\-- 

After a late “brunch” where Lance managed to keep down some of the cursed food, they decided that the only lead they had was too dangerous. Lance refused to let anyone go back in the garage, and he wasn’t totally on board with Pidge dragging Keith’s surviving family through the muck just yet, so Hunk suggested they visit his grandma and see if she could help them figure out what to do. Pidge was stoked to visit a real witch to which Hunk took minor offence to not being included in that category. 

The only problem was getting Lance out of the house without catastrophic effects on his health. 

“I had an idea about that actually,” Hunk said around a mouthful of protein bar. “So, Lance feels better when he’s here - specifically around Keith, right? Because of his ghost magic?” 

Keith squirmed, wondering if his cheeks looked warm. Lance just shrugged a little. “Yeah, evidently.” 

“And as soon as you leave it starts to wear off? Like, gradually?” 

Lance nodded again. 

“Oh!” Pidge’s eyes lit up as they caught on. “Okay, so he’s like a battery. He’s a rechargeable ghost battery and Keith’s his power source.” 

“Uh,” Keith said, looking between Lance and the other two at the table. “I...guess?” 

“He says ‘I guess,’” Lance translated. “But I don’t know what else we could do besides me just spending time here. It’s probably as good as it’s going to get, and I’ll just have to be careful about how long I’m gone.” 

Hunk had his arms crossed as he chewed thoughtfully. After swallowing and downing the last of his Arizona tea, he looked at Lance. “Give Keith your phone.” 

Lance handed over his phone, confusion written across his face. "What will that do?" 

Keith accepted, eyeing it warily. 

Hunk winked at Lance. “Just trust me, man.” 

The wink made Lance trust him even less. Hunk motioned for Keith to follow him into the other room. Keith looked to Lance for...confirmation? Permission? Intervention? 

"Just don't break my phone." Lance shot them the  _ I'm watching you  _ fingers. _ _

“You’re no help,” Keith muttered, but followed obediently after Hunk. 

In retrospect, that had proven to be a huge mistake. Hunk had pulled him to the other room and explained to him a few things that Keith had known somewhat intrinsically about Lance, but now had confirmation for: One, Lance was a huge sap. Two, Lance loved to dance. Three, Lance was a giant dork. Four, nothing built up Lance’s spirits like laughing with his loved ones. The last one was new: Lance had a secret weakness for performance. Not to do his own performing - that certainly wasn’t a secret; Lance was the most theatrical drama queen Keith had ever known - but to be performed  _ to.  _ That was where Keith began to grow nervous. 

And he had every right to be. 

“No,” he pleaded in his posh British accent. “Why can’t you two do it? He’ll like it just as much.” 

Hunk shook his head. “He’d expect it from us. Besides, he confessed this at a sleepover when we were, like, fifteen. It was a truth or dare confession, man, that kind of thing is sacred. He’d never anticipate it actually coming true.” 

Keith’s groan did not translate through the phone. “...Do I have to do it alone?” 

“Nah.” Hunk clapped him on the back. “He won’t be able to sit for long anyway. Just trust me on this, my dead dude. You wanna charge him up? Fill up his feel-good buckets? Nothing’ll work quite like this will.” 

Now Keith wasn’t groaning - he was well and truly whining. “Hunk.” 

“Come on.” Hunk smiled a little sadly. “For Lance?” 

Ugh. 

“For Lance.” 

_ Ugh.  _

\-- 

Pidge had been more than happy to accomodate. Though Lance hadn’t met Pidge until late high school when Pidge had moved to town, they were all privy to and guardians of each others’ deepest teenaged secrets, including this one. Besides, what else were tech geniuses for? 

“Alright, my friend,” Pidge said, tugging Lance by the wrist over to the living room couch and pushing him down gently. It didn’t take much; Lance weighed about as much as a winter breeze by that point. “This is where you go. Don’t move.” 

Lance crossed his arms. “What are you up to? Shouldn’t we be making a plan? Hunk’s grandma is waiting.” 

“She’s like a thousand years old, Lance, she can wait a little longer.” Apparently satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, Lance watched Pidge retreat into the shadows like the sneaky little gremlin they were and pull the shutters closed, sending the room into relative darkness. Shortly after, he felt the prickle of Keith’s emotions through their link - a sort of grumbling, begrudging, embarrassment that made him frown. What were they doing to Keith? Why didn’t he just, like, take a nap with him like they usually did? Why were they wasting time being sneaky when they were already running low on t- 

The two lights they used for their shoots flicked on, making Lance blink and squint. Shining on Keith, it made him look unusually bright - like his exposure was dialed up a little more than everything else behind him. He still wore the same clothes he always did, the ones he’d likely died in - black t-shirt, baggy black cutoff jeans, a red flannel around his waist, an unruly mop of jet black hair...the only new thing on him was his expression. He was staring hard at the ground at first, but then his face relaxed and grew peaceful. He saw Keith’s lips moving and looked down at the accompanying tingle on his arm. 

_ You’re fucking welcome, you absolute loser.  _

Then the music started. The synthesized keyboard music. 

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

“Oh my god,” Lance said, in complete disbelief. But there it was. It was happening. He was going to kill Hunk. 

He was going to marry Hunk. 

He was going to marry Hunk and then kill him. And then he was going to kill Pidge and then himself from embarrassment and they would all haunt the Red House forever thanks to that one time he’d said “truth” instead of “dare” and _oh_ _dios mio ayudame_ \- 

Keith looked up at him with practiced impassivity before his pretty lips parted to mouth along. _“_ _ _I_ hear the ticking of the clock, I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark _ . ” He stalked towards Lance one step at a time, running a hand up his chest to clutch at his heart. “ _ I wonder where you are tonight, no answer on the telephone. _ ” Keith raised his wrist to his forehead in an exaggerated faint, looking mournfully at the ceiling, and who  _ was  _ this, was this the same Keith that - _“_ _ And the night goes by so very slow _ _”_ \- struggled to express himself or even accept a hug and oh wow he had gotten so close._ “_ _ Oh I hope that it won’t end all...alone _ _.”_

Keith dropped to his knees, pouting up at Lance through his long lashes and his messy black bangs for the musical interlude before he reared back in the most over-dramatic display of Rock N’ Roll posturing of all time, throwing his arms wide. 

“ _ TIL NOW! I ALWAYS GOT BY ON MY OWN! _ ” He bent forward again and took Lance’s hand, lacing their fingers together urgently. _“_ _ I never really cared until I met you! _ _”_ He pressed their hands to his heart. _“_ _ A nd now it chills me to the bone!” _ And in one swift, unexpectedly graceful movement, he’d pulled Lance up off the couch and against him, his free arm coming to rest around Lance’s waist as he broke into a crooked, sideways smile. _“_ _ How do I get you alone? How do I get you alone? ”  _

Lance couldn't help the dopey grin he knew was on his face, no way he could even try to mask his glee. Here, pressed into Keith's arms as he mouthed along to a ridiculous power ballad Lance had loved as a kid, he knew for the first time in his life that he belonged. 

Laying on his bed as he grew up, imagining what it would be like to have someone sing for him - it was a hazy, malformed dream compared to the reality. Every point of contact between them felt like bright light and every inch of Lance screamed to get closer. He was a moth and Keith was his moon. It was almost scary. 

Panting and out of breath as if he were the one who was performing, Lance brushed a strand of hair from Keith's eyes. "You're a real show stopper." He blinked down at Keith's lips and back up into his eyes. They were so close, it'd be so easy. Hunk said Keith already kissed him, so maybe he'd want to do it again. 

Keith smirked, looking a little smug, closing his eyes with a pleased hum at the touch of Lance’s hand. “You’re not even gonna let me finish? There’s a guitar solo. Hunk made me practice.” 

“No wonder it took you so long. I waited forever.” 

Eyes hooded as he opened them and smiled softly, Keith tucked a little errant brown curl behind Lance’s ear and let his fingertips drag down his sharp jawline. “I have too,” Keith said without thinking. 

It was easy enough to read his lips. Lance leaned into the touch as he let his own eyes soften. He brought his hand that wasn’t entwined in Keith’s to grab at his shirt, trying to find something stable in the whirlpool of their mixing emotions. “I’m here now.” Lance leaned in, eyes fixed on Keith’s slightly open mouth. 

Keith met him halfway, touching their foreheads together, sending a pulse of warm, affectionate  _ I know, I know, I know  _ across their link. The guitar swelled and like hell was Keith going to let Lance go just to air guitar for him when he could do something much better. This was Lance’s teenaged romantic fantasy, after all. The least Keith could do, now that his shyness had gone, was play it up. 

“Yeah...now get even closer,” he said with grin, pulling Lance tight to his chest before spinning them both around and dipping Lance so far down his hair brushed the floor. Laughter bubbled up inside him, and he knew Lance could feel it. 

Lance squeaked and laughed as he let Keith lead. He threw back a hand, letting his head fall so he could see his hand brush the ground before the world spun and he was eye to eye again with Keith. _“‘_ _ Til now I always got by on my own _ _,”_ Lance sang low and throaty along with the song. He lifted his leg to curl around Keith’s hip and leaned into him. 

A shiver went from Keith’s ears to his toes. God, Lance had a beautiful voice. He dropped his hands to Lance’s thighs and hoisted him up, trusting him to hold on, and refused to be self-conscious about the fact that he was singing this ridiculous song and actually, against all conceivable odds, meaning every last word. _“_ _ I never really cared until I met you , _”_ _ he mouthed. 

_ “ And now it chills me to the bone , ” _ Lance hooked his feet around Keith and touched their foreheads together. Keith smirked, eyes gleaming as he spun them around the room. Lance let his head fall back, watching the patched ceiling twirl. 

“ _ How do I get you alone?” _ Keith sang softly, and realized that - yes. Yes. As soon as they had this figured out and they knew Lance was safe, he was going to come clean. It hadn’t taken a cheesy 80s rock song to realize how far gone he was for this boy, but holding him, seeing the flush of complete, unhindered joy on his face, admiring the way his freckles stood out and his nose crinkled when he smiled...those things made him realize that Lance at least deserved to hear it. Keith tilted his head forward, pressing his forehead to Lance’s chest, and then let him slide slowly to the ground. That brought them cheek to cheek, and Keith splayed his hand over Lance’s heart, feeling the reassuring pulse underneath. _“_ _ How do I get you alone ?”  _

_ Later,  _ he promised himself.  _ As soon as we’re alone.  _

"You'll what?" Lance asked automatically, before his brain processed that the words weren't spoken aloud and there was no accompanying tingle down his arm. He pulled back, eyes wide. 

“Hm?” Keith also pulled back to look at him. He hadn’t been paying attention. The song was coming to an end and he’d been content just to sway a little with Lance. It occurred to him that Lance would probably like to know that this was his first time dancing with anyone - even his mom or brother. 

He brought Lance’s hand to his lips and placed a quick peck on his knuckles. “Thanks for the dance. I’ve never danced with another person before.” 

The familiar tingle of Keith's words ran down his arms. Lance shook his head, all thoughts of the forgien words swept away by the blush that seemed to spread from his knuckles to his cheeks. He buried his face in the hollow of Keith's neck, breathing in the warm electronic smell. "I seem to be a lot of your firsts," he mumbled into the not-quite-cotton of Keith's shirt. 

Keith chuckled and squeezed him tight.  _ First and only _ , his hopeless heart thought. Out loud he said “Well, you’re definitely one of a kind.” 

There it was again. Not words exactly, but thoughts in his head that were separate from his own. Exactly like how Lance knew his own emotions from Keith’s, he knew these thoughts were not his. He was too distracted to bother looking at his arm. Taking both hands he squished Keith’s face, directing his head so that their eyes met. “Do it again. Think something.” 

“Umm?” Keith asked, perplexed and now sporting fish lips. Panicking and put on the spot, he grabbed the first threads he could.  _ Lance looks best in baby blue I really miss pineapple pizza the best season of X Files was the first one.  _ “Why?” 

Lance scrunched his nose. “Really? Pineapple? At least crave a real topping.” 

Keith jolted. “What the hell? How did you know?” He colored all the way down his neck. “What  _ else  _ do you know?!” 

“I don’t know.” Lance bounced up and down on his toes, bringing Keith’s face with him. “It just started happening literally right now.” What had Keith said? He racked his brain trying to remember. “Something about being alone? I think you were thinking about the song.” 

Keith batted Lance’s hands away before he pulled his head off. “What the hell! Wh...what happened?!” He made a confused, crinkled face. “Was it the  _ song _ ?” 

Lance stopped on his tippy toes and looked down at Keith. “You think an 80’s ballad gave you mind powers?” he deadpanned. 

“Well I don’t know!” Keith spluttered, tomato-red. “You got a better idea?!” 

“Uh, yeah.” Lance lowered himself until his heels touched the ground and closed his eyes. He found the door inside him and tried to feel out Keith.  _ Ghost magic, _ he thought as hard as he could. 

Keith blurted out a sharp, surprised laugh.  _ Ghost magic? Is that what you’ve been calling it?  _

Lance’s eyes flew open and he beamed. “I can hear you! Well, not hear you.” His face fell as he realized he had no idea what Keith sounded like. It hadn’t bothered him before, since, for the most part, he thought of Keith as more ghost than human, but that had changed. “I wish I could hear your voice.” 

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. It would make communication easier, sure, but it hadn’t struck him as important. Then he thought about never hearing Lance’s voice and felt a twinge of empathy. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say. Then something else struck him. 

_ Tell me if you can feel this?  _ He mind-asked, and sent a pulse of warmth along their link, the same kind that had kept Lance safe as he slept in Keith’s bed. 

“Mm,” Lance hummed. All his muscles relaxed and he smiled at Keith. “Feels nice.” 

“This is nuts.” Keith smiled back, searching Lance’s eyes in wonder. 

“Are you guys finished filling Lance with the touchy-feelies or whatever?” Pidge called from around the door. “Can we go see Hunk’s witch grandma about fighting evil spirits?” 

Ugh, why couldn’t this have happened without all the bad stuff? Why couldn’t Lance be born twenty years earlier and have met Keith when he was alive? He tore his eyes away from Keith. “I guess.” 

Pidge stuck their head around the corner as if they were worried that they were going to walk in on an explicit scene. Lance rolled his eyes. “What was the point of having Keith sing me my super secret truth or dare confession?” 

Hunk’s head appeared above Pidge’s. “Well. How do you feel right now?” 

Lance took a moment to assess himself. “Great. I feel fine. Better than fine. Why?” 

Both of them came from around the corner. Pidge shrugged. “That’s why. We needed to get you into the best shape we could so you could last as long as possible. This was Hunk’s solution.” Hunk grinned unrepentantly. 

“That’s actually kinda genius. If it works, I might even be able to go to class.” Lance smiled at Keith then Hunk. “Let’s test it.” 

“I’m not doing shitty karaoke every time you feel sad,” Keith grumbled, but the amusement he felt from Lance made him smile. 

— 

Hunk drove the van to his grandma’s house, which was, disappointingly, nothing like what Lance imagined a witch's house to look like; Not a crumb of gingerbread nor a tail of flying monkey in sight. There  _ was _ quite a lovely garden and a tricycle with rainbow streamers spouting from its #gh handlebars out front. As they approached, there were more sun faded toys laying about and half finished craft projects made by small hands. It screamed “grandmother’s house.” 

“Smells good,” Pidge said, sniffing the air. “Like...cinnamon or something?” 

Hunk’s smile was a little mysterious. “That’s what it smells like to you? Hm.” That earned an uncomfortable, suspicious glare from Pidge. 

There was the little tug inside Lance’s mind that said Keith was essentially knocking on his door.  _ All good?  _

Lance wasn’t sure if his reply would go through from this far away since he wasn’t sure what exactly let this all happen. So, he did the equivalent of yelling with his mind,  _ I’M FINE,  _ and hoped it would make it the distance. 

_ Okay, okay! Jesus, no need to shout.  _

_ Sorry, still learning.  _ It was nice to have Keith in the back of his mind; it was a lot less lonely. Lance let that feeling take over, half hoping Keith would feel it too, but too embarrassed to send it purposefully. 

He received a ripple of amusement and affection, with an additional little pulse of ghost-warm. 

“Hello?” Hunk called into the house as he shouldered through the rusty screen door. “Ay? Anyone home?” 

“Hunk!” 

A little girl with dark, curly twintails came running down the hallway covered in patches of white flour. Hunk swept her up into a spin. 

“Heeyyy, my best girl! You helping Tutu?” 

The little girl nodded enthusiastically as Hunk brushed some flour from her nose with his thumb. “Uh-huh. Are you coming too? Did you bring anything?” 

“Not to eat,” Hunk said, and turned to introduce the other two. “But I brought friends! Pidge, Lance, this is Lani.” 

Lance waved, putting on his uncle-smile that always won over his niece and nephew. Lani beamed back at him before squirming from Hunk’s grasp to take his hand. He motioned for them to follow and they threaded their way through the narrow hallways into a sunny yellow kitchen. A short woman with a silvery braid was bent over a pot on the stove, shaking in spices while she stirred. Without looking up, she waved Hunk over who bent obligingly to kiss her cheek. 

“Hey Tutu - I brought some friends to meet you.” 

“Tt-tt!” She silenced him. Her stirring became slow, methodical, and she murmured a few soft words as she finished adding the last handful of some sort of herb. With a nod, she turned around and smiled at Lance and Pidge. 

“Come in, come in, sit.” She began ushering them into the folding chairs by the card table against the wall where Lani was being over-careful as she added eggs to a bowl. Her eyes caught on Lance and the smile froze on her face. “I see,” she muttered. “I see. Sit. Manuia, tea time.” 

Hunk fished a kettle from a cupboard under the counter and filled it with water while Grandma Hunk puttered around gathering up jars. Examining one critically, she called over her shoulder - “Lani, fresh calendula.” Lani glanced up from her eggs, looking as if she had been trying to defuse a bomb, and gratefully abandoned that task for grabbing an empty jar and running out the back door. While the water was heating, Hunk brought down mugs as his grandmother added bits of this and that to them all. 

It was like watching a well-rehearsed performance. Clearly this was old hat for the Sosene family. Pidge caught Lance’s eyes, both of them wordlessly agreeing it was best not to interrupt...whatever all of this was. 

Lani was back with a jar full of yellow petals as the kettle began to whistle. Hunk’s grandmother took a pinch, whispered to them, and dropped them into one mug. Hunk poured the water into the cups, and the flower petal one went to Lance. 

“For you,” his grandmother said, patting Lance’s hand. “But let it steep.” 

Pidge took theirs and sniffed at it discreetly, making a face that said they were surprised not to be disgusted. 

“Thanks, Mrs...uh,” Pidge stumbled, pushing their glasses back on their nose. 

“Just call me Tutu,” Tutu laughed, and it was deep and homey. “Like everyone does.” 

“Thank you, Tutu.” Lance pulled the mug to his face and let the steam wash over him. “That’s cool that you make your own tea. It smells…” He wrinkled his nose. “Great,” he choked out. It smelled awful, like rotten wood. Lance leaned over to eye Pidge’s tea and frowned. 

“Mine has pistachios in it,” Pidge whispered. “Is that a thing? Do people drink pistachios?” 

Lance shrugged. At least that was a regular food item. His looked like Lani had run into the backyard and ripped up whatever was growing, including the dirt clods. 

“So,” Tutu said, reaching out and wrapping her leathery hands over Lance’s on the mug. “You have come about The Consumant, I think?” 

“Uh,” Lance looked down at his hands and then at Hunk for help. Hunk gave him a short nod. “Yeah. I guess?” 

Tutu nodded. “I can see it on you now. You came late. Its roots are deeply sunken into you.” She nodded to his cup. “Drink.” 

“What’s a Consumant?” Pidge asked for them all. 

“A parasite.” Tutu sat back, giving Lance some space to drink. Her eyes crinkled around the corners as she squinted at him. “A dark spirit. They are born in places where something evil occurs, and like any parasite, require a host. A Consumant feeds on lack. It is a hunger spirit that only wishes to devour, but the thing it consumes is its host’s...hmm, deprivation. It starves the host to glut itself.” 

Lance stared down into his tea like it would bite him. His jaw ached; the tell tale sign that it was about to clamp up, but he could feel Keith. Little bursts of warmth now and then that relaxed his whole body. He took a tentative sip and his teeth clinked against the ceramic as his mouth slammed shut. Luckily, some got through and he swallowed. 

The tea slid down his throat and he sighed, jaw unhinging. It smelled awful, but whatever it was, it helped. Sitting the mug down, he leaned back. “I saw it. It was um…” He looked at Lani and changed direction. “A lot of me was gone.” 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Pidge looked between Lance and Tutu. “You mean it isn’t something that’s targeting Lance...it’s  _ attached  _ to him? Then why all these other attacks?” 

Hunk reached out and put a hand on Lance’s arm. “Is that why you haven’t been eating? Or did that start before?” 

Lance opened his mouth to explain. 

“Before,” Tutu answered for him, “Or the Consumant would not have had anything to latch onto. They are scavengers. They cannot create. They can only use what already exists.” 

Hunk and Pidge both looked at Lance with obvious concern, but also very obvious hurt. 

“Lance,” Pidge chided thickly. 

Not okay. They were supposed to be talking about the monsters and the supernatural weird shit, not his eating habits. He shook his head. “It’s not like that. I eat. I’m not anorexic.” Lance pleaded with his eyes, looking between Hunk and Pidge. “C’mon, you know me. You’ve  _ seen _ me eat before all this bull…”  _ Children _ , his mind reminded him. “ _ Stuff _ happened.” 

_ Everything still okay there, dweeb? Something felt wrong.  _

_ It’s fine. Everything’s peachy keen. Don’t worry.  _

_ If it was, you wouldn’t say “peachy keen.”  _ This came with the distinct feeling of grumbling. 

Lance knew Keith meant well but this was not the time. He wanted everyone to leave him alone and instead he felt like he was under a microscope. Finding the door inside, he pushed, trying to block Keith from his thoughts. 

He was met with surprise, hurt, and then abrupt radio silence when he finally succeeded. 

Had his brain always been this quiet? A low hissing took the place of Keith's comforting presence. Lance shuddered. That's right, there was no such thing as alone anymore. 

Pidge threw up their hands in exasperation. “You’re  _ always  _ on some crazy diet or another, never anything healthy or really nutritious or-” 

“Pidge.” Pidge went silent at Hunk’s tone. “Not the time.” Hunk turned back to his grandmother. “So...what do we do about it? How do we get this thing off of Lance?” 

“May I?” Tutu reached her hands out towards Lance, palms up. 

"You want my hands?" His mind was still on what he'd done to Keith. It was worse without him, but he was too scared to open that link again. Lance had probably hurt him and he was too chickenshit to face the consequences. 

She nodded. Lance placed his hands in hers face down, then face up, then face down again. Tutu grabbed them and held them steady. Her eyes closed and she hummed to herself. Her skin was thin and soft with age, but her hands were warm. She smelled like oranges and spice. 

“Hmm. It seems you are not alone in this fight,” she said, opening her eyes to look pointedly at him. 

“Of course he’s not alone, Tutu,” Hunk interjected. “That’s why we’re here. We need to know what to do to get rid of it.” 

“The answer is simple.” Her kind gaze was still focused on Lance, but it was unrelenting in piercing right through him. “You face the truth. This is a shadow demon, and we always fight shadows with light.” 

Hunk groaned. “I love you very much, Tutu, but this is not really the right time to be all mystical and cryptic.” 

“I’m not being cryptic,” she snapped back, looking less the part of the village elder and more like the grandma who had zero qualms about smacking tiny hands away from cookie jars. “I mean it! You confront these things. First, find and cleanse its point of origin to sever its ties to the world. Manuia, you know how to do things like that. If you cannot do that, it will only respawn. Then, you take away its food source.” 

Lance gulped. "I have to die?" 

“Goodness no!” She laughed, throaty and tickled. “What would be the point then, hm? No,  _ you  _ are not its food source. But your vulnerability - the thing it latched onto - is. You need to take that away from it and let it starve.” 

"I don't know how to do that." Lance looked up at Hunk, shaking his head. He didn't want to look at Pidge, they would probably take his head off. "I just want to go back to normal." 

Hunk stood and wrapped his arms around Lance, pulling him into a hug. "We'll do this together. Like Tutu said, you're not alone." 

Pidge stood from their chair and batted Hunk away from Lance with a muttered, “Move,” then wormed their way between the two of them. “Okay, now come back,” they commanded and Hunk resumed his hug, now a Pidge sandwich of sorts. Lance felt the hot puff of breath against his neck as Pidge blew out their cheeks in a resigned sigh. “And...and if it’s what you want, and what you need, we’ll figure out a way to make sure that ‘not alone’ stuff includes Keith too. I can always build more teslas.” 

Lance squeezed them. "Thanks, Pidge. I knew you had a heart in there." Then quieter, "I'm sorry for worrying you." 

Pidge squeezed back. "Jerk. But, thanks. You know I love your stupid face." 

"Me too," Lance laughed. "I'm so hot." 

Pidge pushed on Lance's shoulders, dislodging Hunk and breaking the hug. "He's fine. Let's go back." 

"I need to grab a few things. I'll meet you in the van," Hunk said, tossing the keys to Pidge. 

Lance stood. "Can I hug you?" he asked Tutu. 

"Of course, sweet baby." She wrapped Lance in a warm embrace that reminded him of his abuela. "You are strong enough, I know." 

"Thank you, Tutu." 

Lance and Pidge made their way back to the van. Once Hunk joined them, arms full of jars and two reusable shopping bags full of more. They mostly looked like herbs from what he could see, but it was too hard to keep his eyes open with how depleted he’d become. If only he hadn’t shut Keith out. He dozed in and out of consciousness the whole ride home dreaming of mullets and crooked smiles. 

— 

Keith was a wreck. 

Ever since Lance had slammed the door closed on their mental connection, Keith had been a confused, hurt, but mostly nervous wreck. How was Lance doing? Was he in pain? What if something attacked? What good was Keith here if the one advantage they’d had was actively disabled by Lance himself? 

He’d probably just been bothering Lance, or being too intrusive, but it was pretty damned irresponsible of him to just shut Keith out. They’d already established he was not okay on his own, that he needed Keith’s help, so really it was selfish to just… 

Frustrated and angry and sullen, Keith didn’t know what to do when the van pulled back into the driveway. Without any clear idea of what he would say to Lance, he followed his first instinct and went invisible. 

The small amount of tea that Lance drank had already worn off and the reserve of Keith's ghost-warmth had disappeared halfway through the car ride. To say he was exhausted was an understatement. All he wanted to do was curl up on Keith's bed like he used to, but he was pretty sure that would be unwelcome at the moment. 

Every time he'd woken up, Hunk and Pidge had been talking about him in hushed voices. Lance could tell it was different. They weren't talking about the Consumant, they were talking about his dieting, comparing notes and memories. He hated it. 

Hunk opened the door and held it for Pidge and Lance. No one spoke as they walked to the living room. Lance paused in the foyer, looking upstairs. He had no idea how he was going to confront Keith, so he turned and followed his friends. 

“How are you feeling?” Pidge asked as they flopped onto the couch. 

"Like a million bucks." Lance took the other end of the couch. At least they'd dropped the topic of his eating habits. He smiled at Hunk. "I guess your plan kinda worked."  _ Until I messed it up.  _

“Yeah, speaking of,” Hunk glanced around. “Where’s Keith?” 

_ I’m here,  _ Lance’s arm said, the tingle light and vague. It felt wrong. 

"He's here," Lance said out loud. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely louder than a breath. . 

There was the sensation of fingers along Lance’s cheeks, turning his head as if to examine him, then they retreated. 

_ Tell me you’re alright and then I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.  _

Lance didn't want that at all. 

“Uh,” Hunk said. “Okay? You wanna...come join us, bud?” He shot Lance a confused glance. 

Concentrating, Lance tugged at the link inside him. It wasn't easy. Closing it hadn't taken much, but opening it again was like trying to rip open a locked door.  _ There.  _ A crack. It was good enough. Lance poured everything that had happened through it. Everything from Hunk and Pidge hounding him just as Keith checked in on him to now, how exhausted he was, having been separated by his own rash actions. 

The ripple that came back to him was understanding and compassion, all tinged with the tartness of hurt and worry. That, and a little sulkiness, but mostly the mental equivalent of a hug. He placed his invisible hands on Lance’s shoulders and squeezed, warming him up. 

Lance leaned back into it.  _ I'm sorry,  _ he thought, unsure if he'd set them back to the point that they couldn't talk anymore.  _ Can you at least show yourself for Hunk?  _

There was distinctly high pitched screech from Hunk, which must have meant Keith had obeyed. 

“Jeez, man! Warn a friend!” Hunk complained as Pidge shook their head and grinned, mumbling, “awesome.” 

_ So? Was it helpful?  _ Keith asked voicelessly in Lance’s mind once more. 

_ I think so.  _ Lance strained to make out the forgien thoughts. Keith wasn't quite as clear as he'd been before.  _ Are you…mad?  _

_ No, he thought back.  _ Because he wasn’t. _ We just need to talk.  _

A rock settled into Lance’s stomach. He hated those words. 

“Now that we’re all here, we need to figure out how to stop feeding the monster on Lance, the uh, Consumant, and destroy its place of origin.” Hunk turned to Keith. “That was the garage right?” 

Keith nodded and Lance read, “That’s my best guess, if it showed up the day I died.” Lance added, “So we, what? Burn the garage down?” 

Pidge shook their head. “No. Tutu said to cleanse it.” 

“I don’t get it. We have to clean the garage? No one told me we had to do chores.” 

“Don’t be cute,” Pidge accused. “We need to do some research, figure out what it takes to get rid of this kind of spirit. But the other half of this is you.” They looked at Lance pointedly. 

Lance huffed, sitting back. “We don’t like jokes now, I guess.” He was really hoping they’d concentrate on the first part and not the  _ him _ part. “So, I quit my diet. Solved.” 

“Don’t think it’s that easy, man,” Hunk sighed. 

Keith was still quiet, but he did begin to lightly massage at the sudden tension in Lance’s shoulders.  _ Should I have them fill me in,  _ he asked,  _ or will you actually tell me what’s making you so upset? What you guys learned?  _

Lance rolled his eyes.  _ Tutu said the Consumant is eating my lack, my deprivation, and we have to starve it. The whole thing is stupid.  _

Keith was silent before admitting,  _ I’m...uh, gonna need a little more explanation than that.  _

Lance turned to Hunk. “Then what do you think I should do? There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just like everyone else in the world. It’s not weird to watch what I eat. I shouldn’t be punished for caring about how I look.” Lance kicked at the floor. He wanted to get up and pace or rock back and forth or do anything that would calm him down. 

“There’s a big difference between eating healthy to take care of your body, and being restrictive because you don’t like the way you look.” Hunk was gentle, but his eyes sought out Lance. “You knew me in high school, Lance...don’t you think I get it?” 

Lance shut his mouth and glared at the floor. “Then what do you want me to do about it?” He wished he could kick out of his body and leave, disappear the way Keith did. The whole room was staring at him,  _ judging _ him. His skin felt too tight and his clothes felt too rough. Keith was solid behind him, perched on the couch and he wished he could lean into that ghostly warmth like he used to. 

“Just think about your reasons. Maybe agree to try to get some help.” Hunk tapped his fingers together, looking, inexplicably, up to Keith. “Think about what it’s like for the people who care about you to watch you get sick. That’s a start, yah?” 

“Fine. I’m not sick, though. It’s the ghost-demon, the  _ Consumant _ , making me like this.” He stood up. “You guys figure out what to do about the garage. I’m going to go think about  _ reasons _ .” Lance didn’t look at anyone as he walked out. He didn’t want to see the hurt that he caused. It felt like they always talked in circles when they brought up his eating. Pidge was yelling something at him, but he was already taking the stairs two at a time. 

Keith was waiting when Lance breezed through the door to their bedroom and gathered him up into a tight hug. Lance squirmed, but Keith was adamant. 

_ Shouldn’t you be downstairs making a plan to banish evil spirits from garages?  _ Lance grumbed through their connection, but his fingers betrayed him, clutching to Keith like a lifeline. 

_ Nope,  _ Keith said simply, leaning his cheek against Lance.  _ Because you never answered my question from earlier. But I guess this will do.  _

_ Sorry, there was a lot going on. I don’t remember. I just want it to be over.  _ He buried his face into Keith’s neck. It was nice not having to look at his arms. It would be even better to hear his voice. He hoped Keith had a nice voice. Lance wasn’t sure what he’d do if he sounded like Mickey Mouse. 

Keith smirked.  _ You forgot already? I thought my performance was pretty memorable.  _

Lance pulled back with a start. Their dance felt like years ago. “No!" and then softer, "I remember.” Keith’s arms were around his waist, solid and strong, and he shifted, feeling self conscious. “That’s right, you said you were going to do something once we were alone.” Lance made a face. “You also said you like pineapple on pizza.” 

Keith stepped back from him, holding Lance by the shoulders.  _ I’m going to ignore that. We’ll come back to that.  _ Gently guiding Lance over to the bed, Keith pushed until Lance was sitting. Then he felt silly for being taller, and he knelt. Then he got shy and nervous all over again, making the lights flicker, and  _ then  _ he had to cover that up by at least turning on the Christmas lights Lance liked so much and making it seem intentional. 

Oh man, this was so much harder than he’d thought it was going to be. 

“Uh,” Keith said out loud, shaking out his arms before bunching his fists on his knees.  _ Okay. Um.  _ He looked up at Lance, at those big, beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous even if they were rimmed by tired bags. 

... _ Hi _ , he said stupidly, then cringed. Seriously? 

“Hi,” Lance said, quirking an eyebrow. Keith felt… really nervous. It made Lance jittery. Lance slid down onto the floor to join him. He laced their fingers together, prying open Keith’s fists. “Are you okay? You can talk to me.” 

Oh, boy. Could he? Keith wasn’t so sure. But Lance’s hands were grounding and he took a deep breath. 

_ Okay. Um.  _ Keith opened his eyes and looked at Lance, refusing to be a coward. If he was about to go face down a literal murder demon, he could do this much.  _ I know this has been hard on you. And whether you like it or not, a lot of that is my fault.  _

“No, it's not. It’s not your fault you were murdered or that murder makes demon monsters. Is this what this is about? Do you think I’m mad at you?” 

_ No, not at all. I mean, kind of, because that’s how we...I…  _

Alright, come on. Nirvana. Dream Phone. 80s power ballads. 

_ What I’m trying to say is that...even if so much bad is happening, and has happened, I’m still...grateful. I’m grateful, because I got to meet you. And for me, that’s been worth it.  _

“Uh huh,” Lance said slowly, not sure where this was going. “I’m glad I met you too.” This sounded like Keith was letting him down easy. Oh no, had he overdone it with the dance thing? He’d thought - well assumed… Lance felt really dumb. He squeezed Keith’s hands and tried to send his feelings along with his words, “You’re my friend.” 

Oh yikes - that didn’t bode well. But..well, he’d come this far. Keith gave Lance a meek little smile.  _ Yeah, same. My first real friend. And I’m thankful for that too, but...thing is…  _

God, Keith was no good with words. Had never been good with words, and this was the  _ one time  _ he could really use that skill and this was about the worst he’d ever done. So he tried something new. Holding Lance’s hands, Keith focused on sending feelings, images, memories. He sent the first time they’d spoken, playing games and laughing before Lance had even been able to see him, the times they’d spooned in bed, that time they played tricks on Pidge. He sent the way Lance looked when he was asleep, all perfect freckles and relaxed lines, cute and devastating at the same time. He sent the way he’d felt a heartbeat in his chest any time Lance looked at him, or smiled, or laughed, or even when he wasn’t doing much of anything and Keith just caught himself staring. And this morning, when they’d been dancing...he sent along the certainty he’d felt then about sharing his feelings and everything he’d come to realize. But Lance deserved to hear it too. 

Since Keith couldn’t say it to him straight, he brought Lance’s palm to his mouth and kissed it, murmuring into his fingertips. Then he looked up with a shy smile and indicated Lance’s arm. 

_ I’m falling for you _ , Lance’s arm said. 

Lance stared at his arm, eyes wide. He’d been preparing himself for a gentle rejection. Something like, ‘the thing is, you’re not my type since you have a pulse.’ What he wasn’t expecting was the flood of feelings and images about himself. It was the most connected he’d ever felt to another person. To be able to feel exactly how someone felt and to be able to see exactly what someone saw in him; it was overwhelming. Stunned was an understatement. Lance was frozen, blinking down at his arm as the words slowly faded. He wished they could be tattooed on him forever. 

A small rush of panic ran through him when they disappeared, as if they, themselves, were Keith’s feelings. He looked up, eyes shining. “Say it again.” 

“I’m happier here with you now than I was in all my time alive. And I thought you should know.” Keith smiled, his own eyes feeling suspiciously full, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he started leaking those electric sparks that passed for tears. “I’m falling for you, Lance…” His brows crinkled for a second as he frowned thoughtfully. “Shit, what’s your last name?” 

Lance snorted. “Fuentes, Keith  _ Kogane _ .” He pulled Keith’s hand to his mouth, mimicking Keith’s same actions. “And I’m falling for you,” he said and the words wrote themselves across Keith’s skin. 

So - the thing was - Keith had hoped. He’d maybe suspected, and he’d sort of hoped, but actually hearing it? In Lance’s sweet, dusky voice? Well, shit, there went the sparks. “Really? Wait...really?” He reached out and cupped Lance’s face, brushing his thumb reverently along Lance’s full bottom lip. 

“Really.” Nodding, Lance smiled. It was a rush. His own feelings mixing with Keith’s were a high he’d never experienced and was instantly addicted to. “I thought I was making it pretty obvious. I don’t just let any cute boy in cutoff jeans kiss my head while watching zombie movies.” 

Keith spluttered and yanked his hand back, covering his face. “I thought you were asleep!” 

Lance giggled and crawled the short distance between them to pull Keith’s hands from his face. He sat in his lap, wrapping the hands around him. “I was. Hunk told me. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” 

_ That’s cheating _ , Keith grumbled through their link, since Lance was occupying his own arms. Keith was happy to pull him closer, though, and bury his nose into Lance’s shirt.  _ Is this what it’s going to be like? You making fun of my jeans and my lack of skills? Cuz then I take it all back.  _

Cocking his head to the side, Lance pretended to actually think about that. “No, I’ll also be making fun of your mullet.” He tugged gently on a tuft of hair. 

_ Nope, that’s it.  _ Keith bucked his hips hard and laughed when Lance tumbled backwards in a heap.  _ You’re a dweeb and a menace.  _

Lance rolled onto his belly, resting his chin in his hands and kicking his feet in the air. He looked up at Keith with the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. “Yeah, but you’re the one that likes this dweeb,” he drawled. 

_ I know _ . Keith shook his head in sorrow.  _ With my bad taste, I deserved to die _ . 

“I don’t like that.” Lance stopped, letting his legs fall. “It’s not funny and I don’t like it.” He sat up, looking Keith in the eye and pushed his emotions. “You deserved to live.” 

Keith was practically knocked over by a tidal wave that belied Lance’s understatement. It was righteous rage at Keith’s murder followed by the earnest, urgent desire to give up everything if it meant Keith would have had a chance to live his life. It hit him like an actual punch to the stomach and Keith gasped. It was one thing to hear Lance say he returned Keith’s feelings, but another to know that those feelings were as deep and raw as Keith’s own. 

In it, though, he caught a thread of something he recognized - something Lance had chided him for not that long ago. Keith closed the distance between them and cupped Lance’s face, pressing his lips to the crumpled line of Lance’s furrowed brow. Through that kiss he sent back gentle, coaxing affection, reassurance, and an equally fierce desperation and determination. Lance couldn’t give up. They had only just begun. 

_ So do you, my heart.  _ Keith pulled back and gave him a small, helpless little smile.  _ You’ve got the only one between us, so you’ve gotta keep it beating for us both. That’s mine in there now too _ . 

Hot tears poured down Lance’s cheeks as he blinked up at Keith. Hunk had told him to think about how the people who cared about him felt. Lance hadn’t understood before. He was too scared of his own insecurities to face them. He didn’t want to admit that there might be something wrong with him. He’d decided to  _ die. _ Whether he really meant to die or not he wasn’t sure. But here he was, berating Keith when it hadn’t even been his decision and all the while coming to terms with his own. As if passive inaction to save himself wasn’t a type of suicide. Now, here, with Keith, he could feel how desperately stupid he’d been and how utterly unsure that left him. 

“How?” He ground out. “This is all too much. I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make it out alive. You’ve  _ seen it. _ ” 

Keith shook his head. “Doesn’t scare me any more than the other shit we’ve gone up against. People have murdered people since the dawn of time. Can’t be the first time one of these has shown up. There’s got to be something out there.” 

Lance pulled him close, crying into his shirt without wetting it. His tears rolled down Keith and onto the floor. There were still so many unknowns and obstacles between them, but Lance was sure of at least one thing: their feelings for each other weren't one of them. 

There were a million reasons he wanted to live and those same reasons were why he wished Keith hadn't died. Ghosts might be real - but death was permanent. "I'm going to try and get some help." 

Keith smiled. “Good. That’s good.” He stroked his hand over Lance’s hair, loving the silky feel of it and nuzzling into the spicy smell of Lance’s shampoo. He whispered things like “I’m proud of you. We’ll get through this together, okay?” and other comforting platitudes until he felt Lance’s hitching sniffles start to subside. And...that was about all he could handle of Lance crying. If there was ever one person in the universe who should never have a reason to cry, it was the blue-eyed idiot in his arms. 

Keith snuck a few more little pecks over Lance’s wet cheeks, kissed a path to his ear and hovered there, pushing warmth as if he were breathing in it. 

Then his hands dropped and began to attack Lance’s sides in merciless tickling. 

"Ahh!" Lance scream-laughed. "Stop! Mercy!" Every time Lance tried to tickle back his hand passed right through. Keith was getting too good at his ghost magic, it was unfair. "You're cheating." Lance tried to pout in between giggles. 

_ You cheated at Dream Phone; it’s only fair, _ Keith thought at him since Lance’s arms were a wild, windmilling mess right now. He managed a sneak attack right under Lance’s armpits and pushed him back, pinning him to the floor as he grinned down at him and kept it up.  _ You totally rigged it.  _

“I didn’t-” Lance gasped, banging his feet on the floor and wiggling, “-cheat. You lost,” he screamed as Keith found an extra ticklish spot, “Fair and square!” Lance bucked his hips trying to throw him off. 

Keith stopped at that motion. They were sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs, panting. Lance’s eyes were shining from tears and mirth and his cheeks were pink from exertion. Without thinking, Keith brushed a strand of hair from Lance’s face. 

The mood dropped and shifted with that action. Lance's grin changed with it, turning soft and questioning. “Keith?” 

Lance’s eyes flicked to his lips and lingered there. Keith had avoided those eyes for so long, trying to figure out his own emotions. He’d denied himself the want hidden behind blue irises because he was unsure where this would end up. But, now. Now, he knew that it didn’t matter what obstacles were in front of them, there was something bigger pulling them together. He wanted to listen to that pull instead of his doubts. “Lance,” he breathed. 

He traced his finger down the side of Lance’s face, following high cheekbones to rosy lips. Lance’s hands fisted his shirt. Keith could feel it pull up, exposing a thin slice of skin to the air. Looking down, he saw that Lance’s own shirt was hiked up to his ribcage, he was so thin Keith felt like he might break apart. He'd do anything to assure Lance became healthy again. 

Keith ran his thumb over Lance’s lips, all sticky-red from chapstick, and then dragged his hand down until it was grasping Lance’s bare hip and pulling him closer. The electric jolt that sparked through him, Keith thought dimly, would probably have been the same whether he was dead or alive. He knew he was shaking. 

“I want…” Keith said, eyes fixated on Lance’s open and shuddering mouth. He watched a pink tongue dart out and wet already moist lips. 

“Me too.” 

That was all the permission he needed. Like lodestones, like magnets, they came together and held. Keith lowered himself to press a long, languid kiss on Lance’s pretty mouth, his own hips pinning them to the floor. Lance tasted like wintergreen, smelled like a forest, and Keith wanted more. He tilted his head and dovetailed their lips together more completely. 

A soft, exploratory brush of Keith’s tongue and Lance opened up to him. Keith tasted a little like metal and damp air, but it was as comforting as his scent had been. The ripple down his arm told him Keith was moaning. Lance echoed the sound, his whole body lighting up. Or was that the Christmas lights above them? They pulsed in time with the kiss as if they moved with Keith. 

_ Oh god _ , Keith thought, and Lance realized his sharing wasn’t intentional when he also heard  _ he’s so perfect. Beautiful. Mine.  _

Lance’s stomach filled with fireflies. How could anyone see him like that? And, yet, he knew it wasn’t pandering or platitudes. He could feel the raw passion behind Keith’s private thoughts. It was heady. His hands found the small of Keith’s back and the bit of skin exposed there. His fingers crept under the black shirt to feel the strange static that was  _ Keith _ . Lance was lost to Keith’s mouth, Keith’s hands, Keith’s words, and it was never going to be enough. 

The room hummed with electricity when Keith pulled back. He smiled impishly.  _ So maybe you didn’t cheat at Dream Phone. But I still won;  _ He brought his face down and touched the tips of their noses together, smile melting as he closed his eyes.  _ I got the boy I wanted in the end.  _

###    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the spookiest beta ever: Mintusti <3 Song: Heart - Alone
> 
> Sail: Wow is this already chapter 6??? Only two more chapters! I'm kinda sad to say goodbye, it was already so hard to write the last word of this story but i was looking forward to at least posting and sharing it with you. Now that's almost over too. I'll be saying my official goodbye in ch7 and then leave you with a poem in ch 8. This was my first time trying to tackle an ED with a character and I know it wasn't perfect, it might not even have been good. But I learned a lot about the nuance of writing mental illness and i hope the future can be forgiving of my first try. i love you all and your reads, comments and kudos have meant the world to me, thank you. oof sorry for getting all sappy on you
> 
> Autumn: I just...really like writing horror and ghosts, so that's why I'm sad it's over...
> 
> \--  
edit: we have fan art!!  
[SawMouth Mist Monster by AJ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a7e711ac13e3d4a2bad4ea534275e3b6/afb930946ad7d912-57/s1280x1920/4ff0f5afcaa0e088f4cb5eb326a3942506548237.jpg)  
[Consumant Demon by AJ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/11ab4c1d8e284e4a39bb726103b1fb30/9868b4b15493986b-ed/s1280x1920/5e3a2c08d06df3c4ffaa4c6bfa136ede9b635b90.jpg)  
[Shiro with a Mullet by lvminook/Birchwood](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3wGHZhg_Q3/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet)
> 
> Edit edit: catch me pterodactyl screaming over this art, how are we so blessed?! 
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sail: CW: Description of rape/noncon marked by [[ and ]] avoid to skip the CW it takes place during the fight scene when Keith is going through flashbacks, homophobic slurs have been added to tags and apply to this chapter
> 
> *points up at tags* Ghost dick >;)
> 
> Autumn: Sorry.
> 
> Twitter is a thing, if you have one you should follow us: [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

With Keith charging him up like a battery, Lance was able to finally leave the house on a regular basis. He could go to class, hang out with friends, and even start therapy. There was still a part of him that screamed there was nothing wrong, but he could see on the faces of his friends that he was worrying them. He could feel it through their link when Keith would turn him around, placing feather light touches over his body to see if he was okay. 

And if he really had to admit it to himself and not to anyone else, it was nice to talk to someone who understood. There was also a strange kind of relief to give a name to what was happening in his head. An official diagnosis gave him a sort of power over it, even if it was a mental power and not a physical one. 

Unfortunately, class was a different issue. It was going to take a lot of work to catch up on what he’d missed, and he spent most of his nights studying with Keith and sometimes Pidge. Pidge was at the Red House almost as often as Lance now that he was going to school and taking better care of himself. 

Despite all this, the doom of the Consumant hung over their heads. They were trying their best to act normal until the following weekend when Hunk was going to cleanse the garage. He’d told Lance that he wasn’t sure if therapy alone would be the answer, but he also didn’t seem to know what the answer  _ was _ . Either way, some supernatural shit was about to go down and Lance’s life depended on it. 

_ Fun.  _

Pidge pulled their book closer, squinting down. They gave up and threw it to the floor. “I hate differential equations. You do them.” 

“Pidge, you’re a certified genius who hacked the National Garrison before puberty. You eat differential equations for lunch.” 

Crossing their arms, Pidge cocked their head at Lance. “You have no idea what hacking is, do you?” 

“Not a clue.” Lance handed the book back and turned to his own algebra homework. Keith was looking over his shoulder and writing into a notepad with his ghost powers. He didn’t seem to be paying full attention to his studies though - not with one hand playing in Lance’s hair. 

Ever since Lance had started really studying, Keith had taken to learning over his shoulder. As it turned out, the only thing it took to make learning subjects you despised more enjoyable was to die and have nothing at all to do for twenty-some-odd years. Even math started to look pretty good after that. Sometimes Lance would forget his books just so Keith could read them while he was at school. As a result, Keith - the bastard - was already ahead of him in almost all of his classes. 

They were a thing now, Lance guessed. What that thing was, he wasn’t sure, but they were definitely more than they’d been before. It was obvious, because Pidge whined at them a lot. 

“Stop playing with his hair; it’s making me sick.” 

Speak of the devil. 

“No,” the tablet said. 

Pidge had gotten fed up very quickly with trying to carry on a conversation with Keith either through Lance or with the obnoxious British voice of Lance’s phone. As such, they had gifted Keith with a rigged tablet that allowed him to speak through Cortana. After they’d all gotten over the initial weirdness of feeling like they were in  _ Halo _ , it had become almost normal to hear Keith speaking through her voice. 

“Your face makes me sick but you don’t hear me complaining,” Cortana-Keith said. 

_ Here we go _ . This was always how it started between them. Lance smiled. It meant that they were becoming friends. 

Pidge snorted. “I’m sure it’s just  _ killing you _ .” 

“Har har,” Cortana said matter-of-factly. 

Pidge rolled their eyes at the pencil that went sailing past their head. “Well that’s plenty of your charming company for me.” They stood and stretched, cracking their neck. “You sleeping here again, Lance?” There was no malice or accusation behind the question. 

Lance looked up at Keith and then nodded. “I have my pills and I brought a new food to add into my diet-- food, uh.” His therapist told him not to think about food in terms of dieting anymore and he was trying to get rid of the word altogether. “Meals?” 

“I’m glad.” Their smile was soft. “Take care of him, yeah?” Pidge said to Keith. Keith quirked a silent smile. 

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Sure, that’s why your boyfriend’s a ghost. See ya, losers.” Pidge closed the door and Lance listened to them run downstairs. 

The word  _ boyfriend _ hung over them even though Pidge was long gone. 

Keith’s fingers resumed their stroking through Lance’s hair, twisting the ends. When the heavy front door sounded, the touch of them dared to dip a little lower, rubbing the soft spot behind Lance’s left ear. 

Lance moaned softly. “Feels nice.” He tilted his head to give Keith better access. 

Keith trailed his fingers down Lance’s neck, massaging at the tense juncture where neck met shoulder. He leaned forward and pressed a long, lingering kiss into Lance’s hair. “So,” Cortana announced blandly, not at all mirroring the hesitant way Keith was actually speaking. “Did you ask me out and I missed it?” 

“Pidge is gone,” Lance said, trying to dodge the question. “You don’t have to use the tablet anymore.” The soft hum that ran over his skin whenever Keith touched him made him shiver slightly. He leaned back, putting his head next to Keith’s as he rested on the corner of the mattress. 

Keith did let go of the tablet, just to grab Lance’s spare hoodie from the foot of the bed and offer it out. “Cold?” Lance’s arm asked. 

“I like it better when you warm me,” Lance winked. 

“I’m fine with it.” 

“What?” Lance pouted. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Sitting up, he turned to look at Keith. It couldn’t be that he was still stuck on what Pidge had said…right? “You okay?” 

Keith was fidgeting, rubbing the cuff of his flannel between his thumb and forefinger. He looked past Lance at the floor but still managed, “If...that’s what we are. Boyfriends. I’m fine with it. If...you know, if you are.” 

_ Oh _ , Lance had read the situation all wrong - well, not that wrong.  _ Stupid Pidge, _ he thought,  _ just had to open their dumb mouth. _ He wasn’t ready for this conversation, but here it was. And now that they were here, he wasn’t going to run away. Lance crawled onto the bed and tugged on Keith’s hands until they were sitting across from each other, rubbing his thumbs over the back of them and staring at them.

Keith looked so solid; so real. He could feel the texture of his skin, all electric current and yet still soft. It was that strange static that grounded him. Always reminding Lance that Keith was, in fact, dead. “Keith,” he said, and immediately felt like he was starting a conversation about breaking up. Lance pulled one of the hands to his lips and kissed it to try and dispel that feeling. “Are you really okay? With this? With me being alive?” 

Jerking his head up from where he’d been watching their hands, chewing his lip so hard he knew he would have felt blood, Keith gaped at Lance. “ _ Me?  _ Pretty sure the question is whether you’re okay with me being  _ dead _ . I want you here. I hate when you have to go. But you just deserve so much better than this.” He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, keeping the words from tumbling between his teeth before he was ready. “But. I think we’ve both pretty much given up on fighting it. At least...I have.” 

And Lance knew it was true. He’d given up on fighting this a long time ago, maybe even before Keith had. There was something about this, about Keith, that had him believing in one insane truth: that there was no one else. Call him a sap, but Lance thought that maybe they might be meant for each other. At least he liked to think about it as some romantic drama through space and time and worlds - that through their separate circumstances, they had still been brought together, to be together, in a way that death couldn’t break. 

He got up onto his knees so that he was taller than Keith and abandoned his hands to cup his face. Lance looked down into the dark eyes that owned his soul, and, he suspected, always had before he’d ever seen them for the first time. “Be my boyfriend?” 

“Yuh-huh,” Keith squeaked, completely spellbound and unable to look anywhere but Lance’s soft, full mouth. “I mean - yes. Yes, please. Okay.” 

Smirking, Lance ran a thumb over Keith’s bottom lip. “Guess that makes you officially mine now.” He wrapped his fingers into Keith’s hair and pulled their lips together. Keith melted underneath him and Lance took over. Slowly bringing the chaste kiss deeper, nipping and licking until Keith opened up for him. He dipped his tongue inside, exploring and tasting the strange electric flavors of Keith. 

As he went deeper, he gently pushed Keith down to the bed until Lance had one hand fisted in his hair and the other cupping his face. He moaned into Keith’s mouth as hands wrapped around him, pulling him close. 

The groan Keith let out was humiliating in its length and pitch, and he knew that even if Lance couldn’t hear it, he definitely was able to feel it. Keith’s arms felt the rumbling vibrations of it through Lance, and he had to resist the urge to break the kiss just to hide his face. He was so out of his depth and he’d never done anything like this with anyone and  _ oh, god, what if Lance decided it wasn’t worth Keith being dead because he was so lame to begin with and -  _

Lance broke the kiss only to trail them down Keith’s jaw and up to his ear. His hand slipped from Keith’s face and traced a line down his neck. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“No!” Keith shouted, and since Lance wasn’t looking at his arm, shook his head. “No.” Instead of speaking, he opened himself up to Lance through their link and shared: shyness, humiliation, nervousness, but also trust, adoration, and the tsunami of want that kissing Lance had unleashed.  _ Don’t stop, please _ , he thought-spoke.  _ I just...  _

The emotions overwhelmed Lance and he had to stop to process them. He took a moment to pick them apart and sort out what Keith was trying to let him know. Lance worried that the more negative emotions were going to be all there was, but then the positive ones hit and Lance almost swooned. Keith’s need was euphoric as it mixed with his own and Lance had to clench his fists to keep from doing anything he might regret. “Am I…” Lance trailed off to look Keith in the eyes, searching there. “Your first?” 

Keith held his gaze and gave a little nod that spoke more than he could have with words. 

Lance was half expecting this answer from what he’d known about Keith’s life. Still, it was a lot of pressure. The good news was that Keith definitely wanted him. That was crystal clear. The bad news was that Lance wanted to push this further then it seemed like Keith was ready for. 

Lance nuzzled his neck, dropping kisses here and there. “Don’t worry. We’ll take it at your pace. No pressure.” Lifting himself up, he turned Keith’s face to look at him so he could watch his expression. “I’m going to kiss you again, okay?” 

The overwhelming  _ yes _ he got surged him forward. Now that Keith had opened the gate between them, he could feel how every touch made Keith react. It let him discover that Keith wasn’t as comfortable with mouth kisses; he seemed to overthink them and worry about what he should do next with his tongue. He did, however, love when Lance attacked the spot on his neck that dipped between his collar bones. The best, however, was that Keith would go almost mindless when Lance tugged on his hair to suck at his neck. He briefly wondered if ghosts could get hickeys. 

Keith’s hands grew braver as they made out, brushing down Lance’s back, through his hair, and grabbing his hands only to let them go so that Lance could touch him again. As brave as they got, all their touches stayed over their clothes and above the waist. Lance was definitely getting hard as they made out, but decided to ignore it and enjoy the kissing. At least, until he rolled them both to their sides and Keith slipped his thigh between Lance’s legs. 

Shock rippled through their link and Keith broke the kiss with a gasp to pull back and look wide-eyed at Lance.  _ Ohmygod that’s...that’s your...  _

“Sorry,” Lance panted, “You’re really hot.” He tried to scooch back so he wasn’t all up on Keith’s leg. The friction made him bite his lip as a moan rumbled in his throat. His voice was deep and throaty and Lance was too turned on to care how he sounded. “Don’t worry. It’s okay if we just kiss.” 

Keith sucked his bottom lip in and chanced a glance down between them. Shyly, he slid one hand along Lance’s side to his hip, pushing the hem of his shirt up enough to get his palm on the bare skin that move revealed. Lance was thin, so thin, but his skin was so wonderfully soft that Keith couldn’t help practically petting him. Looking up at Lance, he risked a question.  _ Um, but if you want, I...I mean, would it be alright if I...touched you? Please?  _

Lance sucked in his stomach; not because he was running away, but because Keith’s hands twisted his insides. He shuddered a bit as he grew harder. Keith’s words came with vague images of Lance falling apart under his touch, and oh, did he want to. He leaned forward to steal a kiss and breathed in everything that made Keith, Keith. Lance pulled back a hair’s breadth, so that their lips brushed as he answered, “I want it.” 

A little whimper escaped Keith’s throat and he wondered if Lance could feel it. 

Deciding that if he could punch demons in the head and face down his own death by immolation, he could probably touch his boyfriend’s dick, Keith steeled himself and snuck his hands under Lance’s shirt. Smoothing his palms over Lance’s stomach, he ducked his head down and sucked at the spot behind Lance’s ear he had been stroking earlier, breathing warmth and electric wetness as he kissed his way down. 

Lance shifted slightly so he was more on his back, allowing a small gap to open access into his jeans. Leaning into Keith's kiss, he rut his hips up, searching for any kind of relief. "Mn, Keith," he begged. 

There was a ripple along their link of Keith’s amusement and excitement.  _ You’re the most impatient person of all time _ , he chastised, but though he continued to suck light red marks along Lance’s collarbone, he did sneak a hand down to palm Lance through his jeans. 

Lance’s hips moved in time with Keith's hand. He groped blindly for a fistful of Keith's hair and tugged. "That feels nice." Dimly, Lance realized he didn't have to say it - he could show Keith how it felt. That sounded like fun. He let his emotions flow freely through their bond, letting Keith know just how  _ nice _ it was. 

Keith shuddered all the way down at the dim, phantom pressure he could feel-but-not-feel as Lance shared. Growing bolder, he reached up to fumble with the button of Lance’s jeans, popping it open and pulling the tab of his zipper.  _ Take these off?  _ he asked, tugging on Lance’s pants demandingly. 

Reaching down, Lance wiggled out of his jeans. This was the first time Keith would see his full body and he was still a bit emaciated even if his weight was going up. He hoped Keith wouldn’t find him gross. Using his legs, he pushed them the rest of the way off and flung them off the bed. Lance relaxed back down, watching Keith’s face for his reaction. 

His mouth was dry. Keith’s eyes darted around, drinking Lance in- his mussed hair, his flushed face and hooded eyes, the tent in the front of his boxer briefs. The way the Christmas lights highlighted the brown of his skin. Keith was on him again in an instant, hungry and eager if inexperienced, so desperate to show Lance how wanted he was. Whether he meant to or not, he kept chanting  _ you’re perfect you’re perfect you’re perfect oh my god  _ ** _Lance_ ** _ \-  _

It was so much. Being exposed in front of Keith was strange. Lance was fairly experienced with all manner of partners. His first year of University was wilder than he wanted to admit, but nothing had been like  _ this _ . Keith’s emotions escalating his own and the not-quite-shock of his skin was tipping him over the edge. Lance tried his best to reciprocate, but he was short circuiting. Keith’s words poured into his brain and Lance realized he might have a bit of a praise kink, because,  _ yes _ , he definitely wanted to keep pleasing Keith if it meant hearing those words again.

Well - Keith thought, catching the last traces of what Lance had been toying with, if not intentionally broadcasting. That was interesting. He took that stray thought and filed it away, pushing Lance’s shirt up and urging him to take it off as he slithered down Lance’s torso, kissing a trail down the scattering of brown hair that led from his belly button to the band of his black briefs. He paused, tilted his head, and then began to mouth Lance through the fabric of his underwear, near-purring at the feel of the rough fabric catching on his tongue. 

Lance had been in the middle of pulling his shirt off when Keith’s mouth touched him. His shirt tangled on his wrists above his head and he bucked his hips. “You don’t have to…” 

_ I want to _ . Keith abandoned what he was doing to smile up at Lance as he struggled, taking advantage of his distraction to pull Lance’s underwear off. Watching his dick spring free, Keith’s brain overloaded. Not that he had much experience, but if dicks could be pretty, Lance’s totally was. It was longer than his, like all of Lance, and Keith’s mouth was practically salivating without the ability to do so and oh wow he was so, so gay. 

If only Lance could take a picture and save it forever. The way Keith looked at him made his toes curl. He groaned before Keith’s mouth was even on him. “Please,” he begged. “Please, Keith. I--” He could feel precum drip onto his belly, sticky and warm. Keith’s mouth was so close and yet he was doing  _ nothing. _ “I’ll--”  _ do anything, I’ll be good, whatever you want just suck me,  _ he finished with his thoughts. 

Okay. Okay Keith could do that. He sent the jolt of need Lance’s words sent straight to his dick along their link so he would know just how needy Keith himself was feeling. Moreover, he wanted to do this right, and since he wasn’t the sort of guy who did anything by halves, he went ahead and did exactly as he pleased. That was taking Lance in hand to lick a long stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, lapping at his head like a pleased kitten.  _ Tell me what to do to make you feel good,  _ he asked. 

"Move your hand, ah!" Lance jerked his hips at Keith's tongue pressing into the sensitive spot at the base. "Start with the way you masturbate," he gasped out. "I'll let you know what works." Lance fought with his shirt still tangled on his wrists and let it drop to the floor. He buried his fingers into Keith's hair and let his knees fall to the sides so he could have better access. Lance felt so open, so exposed, it was fantastic. 

Keith’s face went hot at that and he tried to keep his embarrassment from filtering through to Lance. It had certainly been a while, but Keith had touched himself often enough when he’d been alive to still know his routine by heart. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up the luxury of tasting Lance, so he improvised. Where Keith would usually start with his balls, cupping and playing with them, he mimicked that on Lance with the addition of mouthing wet kisses up his length. He would need the lubrication and Keith would be damned if he was going to resort to lotion in case Lance wanted to make fun of him again. 

_ Oh no.  _ There was no way Lance was going to be able to last. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Keith's mouth in his and Keith's mouth on his dick were not the same. Where Keith's kiss was like a hum, this was a  _ definite _ vibration against his dick. 

"That's so good, yes," Lance said, pulling on Keith's hair. He pushed up and forward with his hips, trying to find more contact. "Can I fuck your mouth?" 

Now Keith  _ knew  _ he had to be red, blood or no blood, because holy  _ shit _ that was hot. He nodded and looked up at Lance, opening his mouth and flattening his tongue to make as much room as possible.  _ God, please, yes.  _

Lance sat up on his elbow so he could see and used his other hand to guide Keith's mouth. It slipped around him, wet and buzzing. Lance gasped and released a sigh. His balls clenched and he could feel the telltale signs that his orgasm was coming. He held Keith still by the hair as he fought it down. 

Once he thought he was under control, Lance let his grip loosen and he thrust up into Keith's mouth. "Shit." Keith looked up at him with his dark eyes blown wide with need, mouth stuffed full of Lance's cock. "Fuck, you’re gorgeous." He tugged on Keith's hair. "Show me how much you like my cock." 

Oh shit did he ever. Keith sank forward as far as he could before the head of Lance’s cock bumped the back of his throat and he backed off, coughing. And honestly, what the fuck, he shouldn’t even  _ need  _ to cough, so it was probably just a knee-jerk reaction. He could overcome that. Undeterred, he fought down the tears pricking at his eyes and slid back on, tongue sliding along the underside of velvet-hard skin. He was too shy to say it, even telepathically as they could, but he sent Lance pulse after pulse of encouragement and willingness to be flat-out used. 

The pit of Lance’s stomach stirred. "So close." He bucked up into Keith's mouth, sparking drool leaking from the corner. The vibrations made his mind turn to static and he lost control of his hips. Fueled by the encouragement flowing from Keith, Lance fucked him relentlessly. He could feel the tight muscle at the back of his throat and longed to push through it. 

"I'm going to--" 

_ Go ahead _ , Keith encouraged him, curling his tongue and relaxing his jaw to swallow Lance down until the tip of his nose was nuzzling at the neat thatch of brown hair at the root of his cock. Idly, he spared a thought for a definite benefit of being dead: not needing to breathe. That meant he could stay all the way down, humming in pleasure, happily gagging on all of Lance at once.  _ Come for me, wanna take it all for you, please, Lance, please -  _

It was too much. His endurance was not used to so much stimulation. Lance's fists grew tight on Keith's hair and he pounded into that sweet mouth. Electricity shot up his spine and his stomach twisted and clenched. Lance shoved Keith's head until the tip pushed passed the ring of muscles in his throat and held him there. He cried out; head thrown back and tears leaking from his eyes with the pleasure of release. 

He could feel his dick slide down Keith's throat as his body automatically swallowed, the muscles flexing around his head. Lance was torn to shreds as his orgasm ripped through him. Keith was cutting him open and putting him back together with those small vibrations. 

Keith took it eagerly, wanting to please Lance, wanting to show him how much he was needed. It still took him by surprise, and as his throat worked to swallow down everything Lance could give him, he found himself wondering whether this would have been different if he were alive. Did ‘taste’ work the same way? If so, Lance was salty but not unpleasant, and even if Keith didn’t need to breathe, he still wasn’t totally prepared for the reality of someone coming down his throat. 

His timing was a little off, and some of Lance’s release wound up leaking down his chin instead, and even that was amazing, and wow, Keith was learning a lot about himself right now and he sent it all directly to Lance. Honestly, he was feeling just a little bit smug if the sensations he was receiving from Lance’s end were to be believed. He’d been so focused on Lance that he’d forgotten about the heavy pulsing weight between his own legs, and as sucking down the last weak spurts from Lance became more manageable, Keith snuck his hand down to press against himself through his pants with a needy whimper. 

Keith was still mouthing him and it was turning into overstimulation. The pleasure was mixing with small tugs of pain. Lance pushed Keith, trying to get him to let go. Keith relented, letting Lance slide out a little reluctantly. He looked up to watch Lance coming down, and to Keith, nothing had ever been so beautiful as the mess his boyfriend seemed to be right then. He looked  _ wrecked  _ and Keith quirked a smile as he thumbed the cum from his chin and licked it off. 

Lance shuddered at the sight. God, that was hot. He blinked up at Keith with a crooked smile. “That was, wow,” he said, holding out his arms. “After that I think I’m ruined for anyone else.” 

Huffing out a pleased little laugh, Keith climbed up into Lance’s arms and toppled them both over so he could snuggle in close.  _ Well I would hope so. I haven’t even been your boyfriend for an hour.  _

“A technicality.” With Keith so close he realized that his unspoken question was answered. He’d been too embarrassed to ask if ghosts could get hard, but apparently the answer was, yes, very much so. A thrill ran through him. This opened up so many possibilities and if Keith’s mouth could do that to him, what could his dick do? But, those thoughts were for later. Lance had more  _ pressing _ issues to deal with. He shifted so that his thigh rubbed against the bulge in Keith’s pants. “What about you?” 

“Oh, um,” Keith started to stutter out, but realized Lance’s arms were occupied with holding him.  _ You don’t have to, I can just - uh…  _

“I want to, but we can do whatever you’re comfortable with.” Lance scratched the back of Keith’s head, running his nails down to his neck and back up. 

The touch felt amazing, even that bit of comfortable intimacy going straight between his legs and Keith was desperately, painfully hard but, but no one had ever-- and he already felt so raw and exposed, a stripped wire still sparking --but he wanted, and Lance was right there, but what if he - what if Lance thought-- or what if-- 

“Woah, shhh. It’s okay.” Lance pulled Keith close and curled around him like a protective cat. The link between them felt more open than it had ever before and Keith’s thoughts were sharp and clear. It almost felt a little invasive, but at this moment he was glad for it. “No pressure and I’m not going to judge you.” Lance placed a lingering kiss on top of Keith’s head. “First, are you comfortable with me touching you,  _ there _ .” 

Keith pressed close and evaluated how he felt. Nervous. Scared. The only time anyone had touched him when he’d been alive were hugs from his mom or Shiro or getting the shit beaten out of him. This was neither of those things but it was still a lot.  _ I’m...not sure _ , he thought honestly.  _ I think so?  _

Well, that wasn’t really a yes. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me? Then, if you want me to join in, you can tell me. I’ll be right here.” Lance stroked Keith’s hair and kissed his head then his forehead, his nose, and down to his mouth as he tipped Keith’s chin up. He pushed feelings of comfort and excitement at the idea of watching Keith get off. “I can be your porn.” 

He would have laughed at that line had they been in any other situation, but the images Lance was sending him and the eagerness he felt that was not his own helped Keith to squash down his shyness at the idea.  _ ...Okay _ , he relented, and reached down to fumble his jeans open. 

It was the first time he’d actually done so in twenty years. Truthfully he hadn’t even known if he could get hard, but apparently, that was not an issue with Lance in the picture. Being dead sort of took the fun out of jerking off, so he hadn’t bothered or even remembered it was an option most of the time, and even if he had, it had seemed depressing. Right now it was anything but, and he wiggled his hips to push his black jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock and pressing himself back against Lance’s comforting solidness. 

Keith looked down, and absurdly, had to take a moment to get reacquainted with his own dick. Shorter than Lance but thicker, he always fit nice and snug in the sheath of his own hand, and he knew with the first experimental strokes that he wouldn’t be doing this for long. He ran the pad of his thumb over the leaking head, wondering if his cum was any different or how he was even making it, and deciding that was a question for another time because Jesus  _ fuck  _ that felt good. He moaned openly and reached for Lance through their link. 

Lance mentally stumbled. He wasn’t sure what Keith was doing but it felt like Keith was stroking both their dicks at the same time. Only, Keith wasn’t touching him at all. He moaned, arching his back. He was still sensitive from Keith’s mouth and wasn’t sure if he could get hard so soon. Yet, here he was and it felt  _ fantastic _ . “Wha…” A phantom thumb flicked the head and pressed into the slit, cutting off his question. 

_ Lance?  _ Keith asked fuzzily.  _ You okay?  _ He kept rolling circles with his thumb, gathering and spreading what came out and wow, yeah, he’d never leaked this much before. Either he was insanely turned on, which was demonstrably true, or he also had some say into how his body interpreted these feelings. Curiously, he sort of ‘pushed’ and sure enough, another welling of - silvery? Why was it silvery? - precum met his thumb. He was nearly slicked now, and a few experimental thrusts into his fist had him crying out, nearly weeping at how good it felt after so long.  _ Oh god _ , he mentally panted,  _ oh fuck. Lance. La-nnn-  _

Nonsensical words fell from Lance’s lips and all he could feel was the ghostly hand tugging and rubbing on him. His hands reached out, crawling up Keith’s shirt and letting the hum of Keith’s skin sink into him. “Mine, I want you. You’re mine, Keith. Come for me,” he growled out, feeling his own orgasm teeter on the edge, threatening to wash him away again. 

His hand sped up and Keith gave up trying to think coherently. Whatever Lance was hearing, he would hear; there was no way Keith could stop himself now. Lance’s voice and his hands splayed on Keith’s stomach made him shiver, and in short order, he felt everything in him clench up. With a silent scream, he spilled hot and urgent over his fist and onto his bedspread, chanting Lance’s name in a helpless mantra. 

Keith pulled Lance along, drawing him to orgasm. Untouched, Keith’s euphoria mixed with his own, tipped him over the edge. It washed over him as he made a mess over himself and the sheets. “That was so good,” he murmured, “You did so good.” He sought Keith, pulling him in and worshiping his lips with his own, muttering broken praise as he did. 

As they came down, holding each other like a lifeline, they flitted in and out of half sleep. Lance shifted and groaned. He was spent, wrung out like a cloth. He stroked Keith’s face and arms and side until sleepy eyes blinked back at him. “I need to clean up,” he whispered, scared to break the spell they’d cast. 

Keith nodded drowsily. “Can you bring the generator things? I don’t wanna fade,” he slurred with a long, satisfied stretch and an affectionate smile. “It was really okay? For you?” 

Touching their foreheads together, Lance breathed in Keith. “No. It was mind blowing. If I wasn’t almost as dead as you, I’d want to do it again.” Lance sat up, stretching as well. “But, I’m hungry and you’re flickering and I demand after sex snuggles. So let’s clean up.” 

Keith curled himself around Lance’s waist, hugging him and kissing his hip bone. Lance huffed and wiggled. “I can’t get out of bed unless you let me go.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” Keith mumbled, nuzzling Lance’s bare belly. 

"You're impossible." Lance wriggled and scooted off the bed. Keith still had one arm wrapped around his thigh. "I think I'll use the tub to rinse off. You coming?" 

Keith yawned. “Kay.” Usually, he would just phase and meet Lance there, but even that seemed like too much time apart. He threaded their fingers together and let his head fall on Lance’s shoulder. 

It was a very good thing the house’s pipes were mostly intact. He poured a jug of water over his stomach and wiped the crust off as best he could. He pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and called it good. Once he was finished, he dragged Keith with him to pull out the Tesla coils and set them up near the room. It was just in time because Keith was starting to fuzz out like static. “How’s that?” Lance yawned. 

“Good.” Keith crawled into his side of the bed and waved at the boombox and giant pack of C batteries Pidge had gifted them. “Can you put some music on?” 

“Are you always going to be this needy after sex?” Lance grumbled with a smile. He did what he was told. It took a while to fiddle with the batteries and the boombox before a little power light blinked on. There were a lot of buttons on this thing and Lance had no idea what most of them did. He pressed the one with the play icon and hoped for the best. Nothing happened. 

Keith snorted and waved his hand, pushing play from afar on the CD side (where there was actually something loaded and ready to play, unlike the tape deck that Lance was messing with). It was a mix he’d had Hunk make - favorites he had never managed to catch and record off the radio and some songs Lance loved as well. He turned the volume down and patted the bed. “Probably. Are you always gonna be this useless?” 

“Probably.” Lance snuggled into Keith’s arms. Honestly, he was glad Keith liked to cuddle. He’d always felt a little hollow after and not everyone he’d been with liked to stick around. Though, this time, that hollowness didn’t seem to be there. “Hey, Keith?” 

_ Mmhm?  _ Keith hummed back in contentment as he ran his fingers through Lance’s hair. 

“Is this…” Lance held out his sentence for dramatic effect. “The  _ Spice Girls _ ?” 

Keith didn’t answer, but he did release Lance to roll on his other side and face the wall. Lance pouted and tugged on Keith’s shoulder. “I’m just teasing you. Come back.” 

Glaring over his shoulder, Keith relented with a grumble.  _ It’s a pretty song _ , he griped defensively but opened his arms back up for Lance. 

“Sometimes I forget how 90’s you are.” He might be overstepping his bounds but Keith just had his dick in his mouth, so a lot of the barriers between them were gone. “You don’t have to answer, but, what’s it like? Being lost in time? You didn’t even know the year when I met you.” 

Keith took some time to think it over.  _ Honestly, it doesn’t feel like anything has changed. Since no one lives here, I had no way of knowing any different. For me it may as well still be 1998. _

“Does it feel like time is moving, now?” Lance held Keith’s gaze. He wasn’t sure what was so important about this question. For some reason, he wanted Keith to live in the present. To be  _ here  _ and not in the past _ . _

_ Yes and no.  _ Keith pulled back and cupped Lance’s cheek, looking at him like the sappy idiot he knew he was.  _ Yes because I feel like I’m living again and moving forward with a life I didn’t get to have. No, because when you’re here and we’re alone together, time kinda stands still. But I think it would do that even if I was alive.  _

_ Oh. _ Lance was frozen as he let the words sink in. “Me too,” was all he could think to say, any eloquence he might have had stolen with his breath. He wiggled over until they were sharing a pillow. “I wanna kiss you again.” 

Keith giggled. It wasn’t a very tough or badass sound, and he wasn’t proud of it, but there it was and he couldn’t care less.  _ So do it. Never stop.  _

Lance captured Keith’s lips. He had no intention of stopping. 

\--

Hunk burst through the door with his arms full of totes. Pidge followed close behind equally as burdened and Lance brought up the rear with a stack of pizza boxes. 

"Keith!" Hunk yelled, "Party time!" 

"We have  _ Mario Kart _ !" Pidge screamed at the top of their lungs. 

Lance cringed, rubbing his ear on his shoulder. "He's dead, not deaf. Turn it down there." 

“I will not. This is urgent business.” Hunk dropped all his bags on the ground and Pidge put their own next to his. 

Keith phased down to the bottom floor, looking over the sudden mess, including the greasy cardboard boxes that had gotten him and Shiro through plenty of school nights alone. Usually when his mom was deployed and Ryou was who-knew-where, or too drunk to risk bothering. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, Cortana’s voice piping up from Pidge’s pocket. “And what’s Mario Kart?”

“Hunk thought we should have a party.” Pidge pulled out their tablet and turned it up so Keith could be heard. 

“Damn right I did. And we’re finally doing  _ Sixteen Candles  _ right. I even brought champagne.”

Lance wiggled his stack of boxes at Keith as he walked passed. “I could even stab the pizza with a knife to kill it and then you can eat its pizza soul.” He sat them down on a side table that seemed like it was about to collapse.

“Aww,” Keith deadpanned. “You always know just what to say to a boy.” 

“More importantly, we can judge your worthiness to stand amongst us,” Pidge said, unpacking what looked like a tumbleweed of AV cables. “If you can’t hold your own in Mario Kart, you’re dead to us - for real this time.”

Keith huffed and crossed his arms. “I saved you from a chainsaw on legs.”

Pidge waved a dismissive hand, focus on untangling the nest of cables. “Trifles.”

“Rainbow road is the real test of friendship.” Hunk stretched his arms, motioning at Lance with his chin. “We have one more trip. Help Pidge set up?”

Lance followed Hunk out with an apologetic glance at Keith. The last time he'd left those two alone on a movie night was a very unpleasant memory. 

Pidge handed Keith several of the bags. “I think they’re grabbing the generator, so we should move all this to the living room.”

“What’s this really about?” Keith asked, knowing Pidge wouldn’t sugarcoat without the others around. “Because we don’t know what will happen…?” He didn’t need to specify what he was referring to. It was on all of their minds. 

Pidge nodded. “Last supper sort of situation. Hunk said you never know with this kind of stuff, so…” 

Keith paused. Even Pidge was looking ashen and distracted. If they were struggling with that much anxiety and worry, Hunk and Lance had to be exponentially worse. 

“ _ Sixteen Candles  _ it is,” Keith agreed. 

By the time Hunk and Lance had returned, Keith and Pidge had set up a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the large blank wall they’d begun to commandeer for the projector. 

“I have been briefed,” Keith explained to Lance, “on Mario Kart. Also lectured on how it was ‘absurd’ that I never played it when I was alive, despite the fact that neither Shiro nor I had any kind of video games. So now that I’ve been dressed down for being a loser who spent my free time with his guitar or his skateboard and not the Nintendo, how are you?” He punctuated this sarcastic question with a quick peck to the tip of Lance’s nose - a favorite place of his that always seemed to need kissing. 

“Great! I’m just great. It’s a party! I brought face masks for the movie.” Lance pointed to the tote with an avocado on the front. “And I grabbed my spare robe for you so you won’t be left out.”

“Grand,” Keith said with no real bite to it. Lance was definitely on edge. He ran a warm hand down Lance's back, letting it rest above his jeans. 

Hunk flicked on the generator and Pidge plugged in the power strip. Together, they hooked up the system. 

“We also bought a pizza. I smell like pizza now.” Lance smelled his arms and held one out for Keith. 

Keith gave him an obliging sniff. “I guess you do. Could be sexier.” 

“Yeah, could be.” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and squeezed. “I’m glad we’re doing this. It’s fun.”

He smiled, squeezing back. “Anything I do with you is fun.”

Dark thoughts ran across Lance’s mind but he smiled through them. “Who are you going to pick? I’m usually Princess Peach or Yoshi.”

“I guess if you’re the Princess, I ought to be Mario, huh?” 

“Aw, I promise I’ll be in the cast-”

“Not your jam,” Pidge piped up. “You’re more the Bowser type.”

“Waluigi,” Hunk offered. 

“Dry Bones.”

“Shy Guy.”

“Please stop,” Keith begged. 

They didn’t stop. They didn’t stop until Keith had unlocked new levels of fury within himself because whoever had fucking invented the blue shell deserved to be here, in the Red House, trapped for all eternity with chainsaw ghosts and people with holes in their heads because honestly,  _ fuck. That. Twice. And twice again.  _

After Donkey Kong spun on the screen for the fifth time in a row, Hunk stood and stretched. “Good try, guys. Better luck next round. Anyone down for a pizza break?”

“Oh me!” Pidge threw their controller down to raise their hand. 

“How many?”

“Three, I’m starved.”

“Lance?” 

“Oh, um. I’m still good. I’ll have some in a bit.”

“Okay,” Hunk said with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll make another trip for that one.” He jerked a thumb at Pidge. 

“The least you can do to soothe the betrayal of defeat is to bring me pizza,” Pidge said from where they were hanging upside-down off the living room couch. “Restore the bonds of friendship, Hunk.” 

Keith chuckled, buzzing along Lance’s forearm, but just between them he asked -  _ Everything good in there, dweeb? Do you need to step out?  _

Lance traced the feeling with his hand, smiling down at his blank arm. Sometimes he wished he could see the laughter, not just feel it. It would be interesting to know what it looked like.  _ I’ll let you know if I do. _ He leaned on Keith, solid and warm. He must’ve been pretty worried if he was trying to warm Lance. He tapped Keith with his head.  _ Pizza is hard, I won’t lie.  _

_ Hard how?  _ Keith wasn’t challenging. When he asked questions like this, he was only ever soft and inquisitive, like he really wanted to understand as best he could so he would know how to help.  _ Hard to deny or hard to pretend to want?  _

_ Can’t even pretend.  _ Lance tugged on Keith until he was sitting on his lap.  _ Tell me something good about pizza so I can think about that instead. _

_ The best part is the crust,  _ Keith reminded him, and chuckled when Lance scrunched up his nose. That earned the tip of it another kiss.  _ Okay, how about...There was a little mom-and-pop pizza place down by that one gas station on Franklin, and when Ryou was out on business, mom, Shiro, and I would go down there and get a whole pizza each. We’d see who could eat the entire thing fastest, and whoever won got to pick all the movies for the night. I don’t think mom was even capable of it, so it was always me or Shiro. The guy who owned the place used to give us one of them for free because it always made them laugh to watch.  _

_That’s not really about the pizza itself. _Lance stopped for a moment. His reality shifted as he realized what he asked and what he meant wasn’t natural for Keith to answer. Keith had told him a _good memor_y that included pizza and nothing about its nutritional contents.

Hunk returned with slices for Pidge and his own plate. Lance watched them for a moment then looked back at Keith. 

_ None of you really think about it, do you? _

_ I can’t speak for them but - no, I don’t think so. Not the way you do,  _ Keith admitted gently, carding a hand through Lance’s hair before following it up with a kiss.  _ Not even when I was alive.  _

_ I think I want a good memory of pizza, too. To think about instead. Is that stupid? _

_ Not at all, sweetheart,  _ Keith said offhandedly and then blushed when Lance looked at him. And okay, sure, it was the first truly gross, mushy nickname he’d ever used, but it just slipped out, sue him, he was feeling a little gross and mushy tonight.  _ Want me to feed you?  _ he asked, hoping it would go unnoticed. 

Lance snorted and clutched his stomach as he laughed. Pidge and Hunk gave them both an odd, left out look. 

“You don’t want to know.”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “Disgusting.”

_ Thanks, tiddy bean. I think I can try now.  _

Keith glared at him - hard.  _ I will never say another kind thing to you. Ever.  _

“Sure, snookums.” Lance nudged Keith off his lap and kissed the top of his head. “Hey, Hunk. Wanna get another slice with me?”

To the credit of both of them, neither Pidge nor Hunk made it out to be a big deal. Hunk just gave him a smile and a thumbs up. “Sure, buddy. What is teen drama, after all, without the right culinary accouterments.” 

_ Fuck you and everything you stand for,  _ Keith grumbled when Lance stood up, making good on his promise, but the warmth in his eyes cut the venom.  _ You’re a plague and a bastard and I’m...proud of you.  _

Lance let the sweetness of Keith’s words fill him as he followed Hunk. A small stack of paper plates sat next to the boxes lined up on the table. Lance took one and hummed over each box. Hunk didn’t watch him. Just took the slices he wanted and made his way over to the drinks. 

Finally deciding on a slice of the veggie pizza that didn’t look too intimidating, Lance joined Hunk at the drink station. It was nice that no one was looking at his plate with disdain or judging the slice he took. He still probably wouldn’t eat it until it was dark and they were all concentrating on the movie. But, he was going to try.

“Take two of the flutes?” Hunk had the champagne bottle tucked up under his arm and two flutes in his hand while balancing his plate in the other. Lance obeyed.

“Hey Hunk?”

“That’s my name.” Hunk hefted the bottle up from where it started to slip. 

“I wanted to thank you. I know I’ve been kinda a brat all semester, maybe even before that. But, you’re a good friend. My best friend.”

“Aw Lance.” Hunk’s smile was warm and sunny - genuine in a way it hadn’t been for months. “You’ve been a brat since I met you, and that’s why you’re my best friend too.” He nudged Lance with his foot. “And you know what friends do for each other? Carry their food into the living room before the champagne gets dropped.” 

“On it.”

One costume change and facemask tutorial later, the four friends were huddled on the couch all wrapped in soft robes sporting fuzzy slippers and matching face masks. Keith didn’t mention it, but he had to actively concentrate on keeping his mask  _ on  _ since it evidently didn’t know what to do with the epidermis of the dead. It had settled on giving up and sliding off if Keith didn’t will it to stay, but Lance’s delighted giggle when Keith had slathered it on was more than worth the effort. 

Hunk sipped on his flute of champagne and sighed. “We should’ve done this a long time ago.”

“I have to hand it to you, this is pretty fucking sweet.” Pidge clinked their plastic cup against Hunk’s. 

“Shh, I can’t hear.” Lance scolded them. His pizza sat in his lap untouched. 

As everyone became more engrossed in the movie, Lance picked at his pizza. It took him the whole hour and a half to finish it, but he did it. Pizza bones and all. He felt a little queasy, but also proud. It’d been years since he’d last eaten pizza and honestly, it was kinda great. It was nice to have a pizza party with his friends. Lance stored it away as a good memory of pizza and smiled to himself.

“Sooo, Keeiith,” Hunk said coyly. “How’s the movie?”

_ I hate this,  _ Keith said to Lance. “It’s not bad,” Keith/Cortana said aloud. 

“He does have taste,” Hunk said to no one. Pidge snorted. 

“He liked my movie better. Didn’t you, Keith?”

_ I didn’t watch it _ . “Also not bad.” 

Lance bit back a smile. “Movie aside, no one is trying to coerce Keith into breaking up with me, so I feel like it's more fun this time.”

Both of his friends looked chagrined. Pidge adjusted their glasses and Hunk took an awkward sip of his champagne. 

“I may still,” Keith piped up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “If you don’t get this gunk off my face soon. I’m dead and it’s killing me.” 

Hunk leaped on the lifeline. “Middle School Lance was worse. He made the masks himself. From mayonnaise. And raw egg.” 

Keith looked at his boyfriend, appalled. 

"In my defense, it did actually work. Not my fault it's also disgusting." 

Pidge giggled. “Remember when he made us put Windex on our zits because of that one movie and you got that rash right on your-“

“No rash talk at movie night!” 

Lance scoffed. "It wasn't as bad as when  _ you _ decided that we could destroy Hunk’s microwave to finish your Mothman tracker." 

"My poor microwave," Hunk fake sniffled. 

"It would've worked if Hunk hadn't stolen the parts back." 

"It was my microwave!" Hunk turned to Keith. "You see what I have to put up with?" 

“I can't sympathize,” Keith shrugged. “I would have been helping to take it apart.”

There was a half second of silence before Pidge howled with triumphant laughter. Keith shot Lance a grin. 

_ You look like you're enjoying yourself.  _ Lance nudged Keith with elbow.  _ Don't tell me you're having fun.  _

_ I am _ , Keith admitted easily.  _ This is...nice. Really nice.  _ His smile softened.  _ I was just thinking that I hope this can be our new normal.  _

Lance laced their hands together.  _ Me too.  _

They talked until they started to lose their voices and all eyes began to droop. Hunk called it, saying that everyone needed to be well rested for tomorrow. That brought the whole mood down. 

The pulse trio marched everything back to Hunk's van while Keith stacked things by the door in random totes. Lance snuck kisses every time he took a bag from Keith. 

Once the van was loaded, Pidge and Hunk took turns saying their goodbyes and doling out hugs. 

“Night, man,” Hunk said, bundling Keith up in a hug that would have left him breathless if he had any to give. As he patted Hunk’s back awkwardly, Keith wondered if Hunk hugs were always like that, or if Hunk was feeling extra...well. Whatever it was they were all feeling and didn’t want to talk about. 

“Night,” Keith said, and finally relaxed into the embrace. It loosened him up for the hug he got from Pidge, which was nonverbal but unexpectedly warm. Something, Keith thought, that he could get used to. From both of them. 

After everyone left, Lance pulled Keith into his arms. "About tomorrow…If something happens; if I--" 

“No,” Keith said out loud, trusting that Lance would feel how firm it was from the shake of his head. “The only thing that will happen is finally setting you free. Both of us free. And then we can celebrate by making out for hours and watching a decent movie for a change. Got it?” 

Lance nodded. "Yeah. Making out sounds like a great idea." He tugged on Keith's wrist. "Ready for bed?" 

“Lead the way, jackass,” Keith said cheerfully, smirking as he watched Lance read his arm. “In case you thought I forgot how  _ rude  _ you were earlier. Dickface of mine.” 

"Calm down, Casper. It's past midnight and we're both about to turn into pumpkins." 

Lance didn't let go of Keith's hand as they walked side by side up the stairs. He paused, pulling Keith to a stop as they were about to jump the second step. "Do you believe in luck?" 

“Not really.” Keith shrugged. “Or if it’s real, it sure doesn’t get handed out equally. Why?”

"A wish, then. Or a deal with the house. If I jump this and I don't trip or break the stair or get hurt, then tomorrow will turn out fine." Lance squeezed their hands and met Keith's eyes. "We'll be fine." 

Keith huffed. “Isn’t that just inviting trouble?”

"I've done it every day since you told me about it and I've never missed. I can do it." 

Shaking his head, Keith gave a little shrug. “If you say so.”

Lance didn't wait. He ducked low, coiling like a spring, and jumped. Keith floated along next to him, not nearly as dramatic. He landed with a thump, teetered and righted himself. Lance looked down at the broken step behind him and grinned up at Keith. "I did it!" 

Keith smiled, soft and painfully fond, as if Lance had never meant more to him than he did in that minute, trying to defy fate by making deals with staircases. He leaned in for a kiss, letting the warmth pool between them along their bond so that Lance would know. Everything Keith was feeling, even if he could never find the words...at least this way, Lance would know. 

_ You did,  _ he agreed.  _ And I know you always will.  _

\--

Lance stood in a circle with Hunk across from him and Pidge and Keith to his left and right. Today was the day. Hunk had all the things they needed to purify the garage and was currently going over their game plan. The only unknown was Lance himself. If his eating disorder was the monster’s food source, then there wasn’t a clear way of ensuring that they could starve it. It wasn’t like Lance could change his brain overnight. But, as Tutu had explained…if they didn’t untether it here, now, at its place of origin, it wouldn’t matter how healthy he became. It would come back and find him - over and over and over. 

Keith was clearly nervous. Even Hunk and Pidge could feel the static shock of standing too near him. It wasn’t that any of them blamed him, either. Hunk could guide them through the steps, but this was Keith’s fight, and Keith’s only, and that was...a lot. They had no way of predicting what the outcome would be. 

Hunk was kneeling beside a black stone cauldron - like an honest to god actual cauldron - and adding plants one at a time: cypress for protection, rosemary for power, rue and vetiver for hex-breaking. They were using anything relevant that Tutu had in her herb garden and stash. He continued adding until there was a colorful and spicy-smelling house plant in front of them which he then proceeded to grind into pulp. He worked slowly, speaking in a murmur so low that none of the others could make out what he was saying. 

“Can’t he hurry up?” Keith complained anxiously. “I just want to get this over with.” 

“Shh,” Pidge hushed him. 

Lance wound his fingers through Keith’s, ignoring the small shocks the contact caused. “It’ll be over soon. Hunk is almost done.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of Keith’s hand. The electricity was so thick around Keith that the air felt like it was full of spiderwebs. The ends of his hair rose like someone had rubbed a balloon on his head. 

Keith looked at him with worried eyes and furrowed brows.  _ What if I’m not strong enough? What if I can’t defeat it and it gets out and gets to you? What if it drags me with it or something?  _

Lance pulled Keith’s head to his shoulder and planted a kiss on the whorl of his cowlick.  _ You smashed a monster ghost with fire fists. You’re pretty strong, and you have us. You have me. You won’t fail as long as we’re together. _ He knew it was true as soon as he said it. They were bound together somehow and there was no way either of them would go without the other. He pushed those feelings through to back up his words. 

Keith settled, but only a little. He was still alive wire when Hunk turned to him. 

“Alright, man,” he said, brushing his hands off. “As soon as I light this, that’ll start things up. The Consumant will be drawn here and you should get some decent shielding. Hopefully. Are you ready?” 

Keith closed his eyes and took a moment. When he opened them again, he said, “As I’ll ever be.” It sounded hollow and falsely cheerful in Cortana’s bright voice. 

Hunk nodded. “Good luck. We’ll be out here supporting you as best we can.” 

Keith sent one more desperate look to Lance, as if walking away from him in this moment was unthinkably, horrifically hard. 

_ Go get it, dweeb.  _ Lance thought back to their first "date" playing Electronic Dream Phone and pushed it through.  _ I owe you _ a  _ rematch. Do it for Steve.  _ Lance winked. 

Keith rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  _ If those are the last words I ever hear from you, I’ll resurrect myself just to be able to kill you.  _

_ I'm counting on it.  _ Lance couldn't say the words he wanted to, even with their silent language, so instead he sent the feelings themselves. A confession without words. Sappy and warm and so deep it scared him, he sent them all. Just in case. 

His lips quirking up, Keith gave a little wave and entered the garage, phasing straight through the closed door. 

“Alright, guys. Let’s do this.” Hunk knelt by his cauldron and sprinkled something into it. When he lit a match and waited for everything inside to catch, there were little sparking fireflies rising from the pot. “And...now we hold hands, picture forming a shield around Keith, and...wait.” 

Initially, nothing happened. 

For nearly five minutes, nothing happened. Lance could feel nervous sweat start to stick his shirt to his back. Where was Keith? Where was this damn thing? They couldn’t wait forever, they would need to - 

With an unholy shriek that rose up from below them and shook the doors in their frames, something engulfed Lance. It was huge, jet black and smoky, but with a horrifying not-a-face and an emaciated, hunched frame. Instantly, pain paralyzed his bones and contracted his muscles in spasms. His body wrenched and contorted as he tried to scream. 

A thick sludge poured into his mouth, choking him. The screams turned into sick gurgles in the back of his throat as it congealed, forming a seal. Lance could barely breathe out of his nose. His lungs burned as he panted through the small air hole, sucking desperately to get any oxygen. Lance stared at Hunk in mute horror, pleading with his eyes. Tears fell in smoked-ink lines down his cheeks. 

Hunk shook himself from his frozen shock and thrust his hand into his satchel, pulling out a vial that he tossed to Pidge. “Get as much of that into his mouth as you can. Go!” Pidge instantly obeyed, rushing for Lance as Hunk flanked from the other side, a handful of greenery clenched in his fist. When he thrust it forward, the thing hissed and recoiled, the pinhole in Lance’s mouth widening just enough for pidge to pour some of the liquid in. With an infuriated screech, the shadow creature fled under the Garage door as if it were being sucked through from the inside. 

Lance doubled over, gasping. He gagged and coughed, burning liquid mixing with his burning lungs. “Fuck,” he choked out. “What the fuck was that.” 

Pidge looked at the bottle as if for the first time. “Chili oil?” Their voice was small and confused. 

After another coughing fit, Lance wiped the smudge from his eyes. “I really didn’t want to breathe chili oil today, thanks.” 

“Well, tough luck, bud.” Hunk pressed his greenery to Lance’s chest. “Keep that on you.” 

A familiar leafy plant with red berries sat in his hand. Hunk had definitely handed him a sprig of mistletoe. “Are we going to make out with the Consumant?” 

“Hardeehar,” Hunk replied. “Now get back over here and hold hands. We’ve got a ghost to protect.” 

\--

Keith wasn’t used to  _ dark _ . 

As a ghost, he could navigate the dark as easily as a cat. It wasn’t an issue, because sight didn’t work the same way in the afterlife when it wasn’t reliant on corneas and nerves and synapses firing. So the fact that it was decidedly dark in the garage was unsettling to say the least. 

Unsure of what else to do, Keith walked to the middle of the room and stood there, nudging at a wrench still on the floor with the toe of his Chucks. He refused to look at the motorcycle; that would only distract him. 

As it happened, he didn’t need to wait long. 

He could hear it before he could see it - a strange, whispery sound, like a broom being dragged across concrete. It slid around him in a slow circle, an unseen vulture sizing up carrion. Wherever it moved, the room grew darker, darker, darker still. Dark upon darkness until it felt as if he couldn’t remember ever having seen light. Oh, god, he thought - this thing has been inside Lance this entire time. It was a miracle his boyfriend was still standing. 

**And a shame** , a voice crinkle-hissed, the sound pressing at his temples like biting down on ice.  **He is almost used up. **

Keith whirled around but saw nothing. When he turned again, it was directly in his face in all of its hellish glory - parchment-like skin, grotesquely sunken cheeks, a tiny hole of a mouth working open and closed. It smelled like  _ rot,  _ like sickness and garbage and everything waste. Keith stumbled backwards, activating the red light around his hands. Seeing it illuminated in red made it even more horrible. 

Even without a real mouth, he could tell it was grinning. 

“You’re gonna let him go,” Keith said firmly. “Right now. And then I’m going to send you back to whatever hellhole you crawled from.” 

A raspy hiss. It was laughing.  **Yours. **

Keith narrowed his eyes and raised his fists in a block. “I had nothing to do with you.” 

**You are why I am. Your death gave life. Your dark gave form. Your fire made smoke. **

He wasn’t listening, wouldn’t listen. Keith growled and thought of Lance - of his new family and friends. Of the way Pidge would always say - “That’s it. Square up, you piece of shit.” 

**Backwards, ** it said. 

The ground beneath him felt soupy, like he was standing in quicksand. Keith tried to backpedal, but his legs were frozen. 

**More. **

Keith was no longer in the garage. 

He was looking up at his mother, small chubby hands grasping for her punkish black-and-purple hair, distinct before her time. Her eyeliner was a mess and she looked so, so tired, and oh, so young.

“What am I going to  _ do _ with you?” she whispered brokenly. “What are we going to do?” 

**More. Further. **

Keith’s legs gave out and he drowned.

*******

**[[**

He didn’t exist yet. 

He watched his mother, pressed up against a brick wall, the oil-slick of the asphalt illuminated by neon from the bar signs. Watched her silently cry, all fight drained, as someone broad-backed fucked into her. Watched her eyes stare listlessly at the dark sky, too tired to keep calling for help. Felt the hot, rusty pant of alcohol breath against her neck as if it was his own. Felt the bruises on her wrists. No one was coming. No one had heard her. No one was coming. 

The heat that filled and spilled from her should have been the end. 

That was where he began.

]]

***

He did exist.

He was barely born, just an angry red thing sucking milk from her breast as she leaned gratefully against a much nicer-looking man, weather-brown skin shadowed by a cowboy hat. The man put an arm around his mother and pulled her close, stroking her hair and murmuring something as she sobbed. The kiss he placed on her head rasped with five o’clock shadow.  _ I’ll take care of you both,  _ the man said. He smelled like old leather, axle grease, and coffee. Safety.  _ You’re both gonna be just fine, you hear?  _

***

He wasn’t much older. His mother let her handful of dirt fall on the casket before she sank to her knees in the grass, holding him close and crying. Crying and crying - always just crying.

***

**More. **

*******

He was four and they were hungry. She opened a can of corn and drained it, pouring it into Tupperware and handing it to him, along with a plastic fork. He pushed it back to her and she smiled, shaking her head. Said she wasn’t hungry. Lied. Poked him on the nose and smiled when he giggled.  _ Eat up, little man,  _ she said.  _ You’ve got to get big and strong - like your daddy was. Your real daddy.  _ His little fingers pushed a kernel of cold corn against her lips and she accepted it with watery eyes. Wouldn’t eat again for days. 

***

He was four, and she was getting married. Standing in a simple churchouse, raising up on cheap heels to press her lips to those of a tall, stern-faced Japanese man. Keith closed the church door and ran back into the cemetery, flopping down behind a tombstone and pulling up clods of grass and dirt. He watched a worm crawl up from the exposed ground, wriggling, helpless, and confused. Keith screamed at it until he made himself sick and there were hands dragging him away.

***

**More. Forward, hurt more. **

*******

He was eight. Face-down in the asphalt. The bigger boy pushed the sole of his shoe onto his head, grinding his cheek into the ground as he laughed. Run home and tell your mommy, the boy sneered. He couldn’t. Mommy was away, fighting. Only Ryou was home. 

What happened? asked Shiro. 

I fell. 

***

He was ten. A boy had pulled his pants down in gym, exposing Keith to the whole class. Had said it was an accident. Everyone laughed for weeks when “teenie - weenie” walked into class. He didn’t eat lunch. Sometimes he climbed the tree and just hid. There was a phone call home, and then he couldn’t sit for a week. 

***

Thirteen. Mother's home, but blown out on painkillers. Chasing them with alcohol. Begging him to come hug her, and he did, patting her hair as she cried into his shirt, drunk and terrified. She described what death looked like on the battlefield - boys Shiro’s age with their faces blown off, strips of skin peeling until you could see bone. Am I a good mother? she begged around her whiskey. Do you love me, Keith? Of course I do, mom. And still she cried, cried, cried. 

***

[[

Sixteen. The boy, a new one, holding him against a locker and grabbing his wrist so hard it left marks. Forcing Keith’s hand down to grip the obscene bulge in his boxers. Working his hand up and down and then accusing him of liking it, of getting off. Running to tell the teacher, who hauled him to the principal. Another phone call home, and this time, a broken wrist. 

Where did you get THAT one? asks Shiro with a laugh. Skateboarding. I fell. 

]]

Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen. Sometimes with no excuse. Sometimes he just looked too gay. 

** _More _ ** **don’t stop. Fire and smoke, smoke and fire. **

A broken leg. Bruises. Mouth washed out with soap, even. Cringing every time the old stairs creaked as footsteps came close. Sometimes getting away soon enough to hide. Most times not so lucky. 

So klutzy - his brother. 

Be careful, baby, this is getting out of hand. Hospitals aren’t cheap - his mother. 

You’re going straight to hell, you filthy little faggot - his stepfather. 

You’re disgusting. 

You’re tearing this family apart. 

Why can’t you be like your brother. 

How dare you do this to your mother. 

Do us all a favor. 

Just give up. 

Give up. 

Give up and go. 

We need you to go. 

You need to just go. 

**Yes. **

Keith whimpered and his knees hit the hot concrete. He gripped his head in his hands, pressing against the sides, choking on smoke and screaming. The flames were everywhere - beams falling and cans of oil making it all so much worse. He was on his belly, the clothes burned off, reaching his hand forward. He could see his own charred arm and his worthless singed fingers, the shock of white bone, reaching. Could see the light of the garage door and the silhouette standing in it. The cold detachment and the last words he would ever hear - “Finally.” 

And it took so long to die. It took so, so long, and he felt every lick of flame and every piece of himself ember and burn away until he was a black and empty corpse, hanging lifeless from the handle that had never opened. 

Finally. 

**So much ** the thing said, sounding so satiated.  **So much for the feast. **

Keith’s eyes were slammed shut, tears streaming unchecked down his face as he sobbed and choked and tried to breathe. 

_ Lance,  _ his mind called, reaching out, the first and last lifeline he’d ever had, his at last in death.  _ Lance please Lance Lance help Lance I need you Lance  _

\--

Lance’s heart was ripped from his chest. At least, that’s what it felt like. He’d lived and died with Keith. Every intimate detail of Keith’s life was on display in his mind and across his skin. “I have to go.” His voice was hoarse from the screams that Keith had screamed. 

“What?” Hunk had covered him in more flora while his mind was in Keith’s. “You can’t break the circle.” 

Like an echo through time, Lance’s body seemed to splinter out and come back. “I don’t think I have a choice.” He’d never tried to reach out to Keith other than pushing emotions or talking, but somehow he knew he could do more. Lance closed his eyes and searched for the link between them. 

Pidge and Hunk’s voices drowned out into a dull drone as Lance dived deeper inside himself. He found the door that marked their connection and ripped it open. The door disintegrated into flames and it took Lance with it. 

He was free. His body was a vessel that he could abandon at any time. It was so fragile and pointless. Lance grabbed onto the string that led to Keith and pulled. One second he was linking hands with Hunk and Pidge and the next he was standing next to Keith in the garage. 

Lance fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around Keith. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m here.” 

Keith crawled into Lance’s embrace and cried, and as he cried, he felt Lance fill him up in a way that erased so much of the pain. When he opened his eyes, it was raining. Inside the garage, it was raining. The fires hissed and began to die out as steam and white smoke.

Keith looked up at Lance and saw blue - blue eyes and blue skies and the endless horizon of space all nebulous with a starspray of blue and green. He felt water on his face for the first time, sliding down his cheeks in rivulets that mingled with the sooty tracks of his tears. 

“I-” his voice cracked, but Lance couldn’t hear it anyway.  _ I can’t do it alone.  _

"I'm here now. You'll never be alone again." Lance wiped a tear from Keith's face, causing the soot to shed off him. He wiped again, cleaning the smudges away. 

Lance could feel the Consumant circling them, but he didn't care. Keith was more important. In this strange ethereal form, Lance couldn’t tell where he ended and Keith began. With a start, he realized that's how it had always been and how it would always be. "I'll never leave you; I can't. I love you." 

Keith stared up at him in wonder.  _ I...I love you too. Oh god, Lance. I love you too.  _

The tentative thread that led Lance to Keith, the one that wrapped around them and tangled them together, solidified. Keith was his and he was Keith’s. It was a fact. The earth revolved around the sun, the sky was blue, and they were destined for each other. 

Lance helped Keith stand. “We shouldn’t have tried to do this separately.” 

Keith didn’t get a chance to respond. The rain dissolved in mid-air bursts of smoke as the garage shook with an unholy roar. It made the windows clatter and then burst, tools rattle and fall to the floor, and everything around them was swallowed. The darkness expanded and consumed, and where there had been garage there was now nothing but the stench and slime of something biological and vile. It was the rot of caves, of fungus and decay, of stomach bile. 

_ It… _ Keith frowned, throat constructing on a gag.  _ I think it ATE us. That motherfucker ATE us!  _

“Okay, this is officially gross.” Lance lifted his shoe out of the gook. “I’m glad my actual shoes aren’t in this. I had to save for three paychecks and then special order them because they--” 

_ Really? That’s your big concern right now?  _ Keith turned and scowled at him.  _ Maybe we can - wait. What do you mean, your ‘actual shoes?’  _

“Not the time.” Lance squinted down at the sole. The rubber was melting in little bubbles and the tread was significantly shorter. “I think we’re being digested.” He swallowed and looked up at Keith. 

Keith ignited his “fire fists,” as Lance had dubbed them, and ran forward, punching into the darkness with a loud grunt. The wall sizzled and popped, melting away with a nauseating smell. He pulled back and kept punching, exhausting himself until he had nothing to show for it. As a last resort, he elongated the red light and stabbed it into the blackness. There was a shriek, but nothing changed. He turned to Lance, trying not to feel frantic.  _ It isn’t working!  _

“It has to work. It’s always worked!” Lance looked around, trying to find anything to help. His feet were starting to burn. "Hey, Shithead! Let us out!" He stomped his foot, trying to hurt the creature. "Come out and face us like a man! Or are you too scared to face us because you don't have a  _ face _ ?" 

_ Okay, think.  _ Keith paced, ignoring the burning squelch of his footsteps.  _ How did you fight it back before? Like when it would try and take over or whatever, what helped you keep it at bay?  _

“I didn’t.” Lance took a moment to flip off the darkness before turning to Keith. It didn’t do anything to the monster, but it made him feel better. “Whenever I was away from you it would get stronger and there was no way to control it. I thought it was your ghost magic that was keeping it at bay.” 

Keith thought about that. What had he been doing when he was making Lance feel better? Being warm, for a start - so he did what he always did when they cuddled and heated himself up to a warmth that was about three degrees higher than would be healthy to a real human. He reached forward to touch the wall. 

Nothing happened. Okay, well, what about...He thought back to holding Lance close, kissing his hair, stroking it back from his face, rubbing his arms - anything to comfort him and convey his budding affection. He thought about the way Lance laughed, talking on a plastic phone with green face mask on. The look in his eyes when he finally managed to stay on the skateboard. The way his whole face lit up when Keith had lifted him in the living room as they belted out the chorus to a song Lance dearly loved. His scent. His sass. His kiss. 

The Consumant screamed - that’s all the sound could be described as - and the wall burned with a momentary hole through which Keith could see his rusting red bike. It closed soon after, but it had been enough. 

_ You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,  _ he thought, before remembering Lance could hear that too. 

“What is it?” Lance walked over to where the hole disappeared. “It seemed like you did something.” 

_ Yeah.  _ Keith turned to look at him.  _ I was thinking about you this time.  _

“I saw. I’m way different in your head than I am in real life.” Lance gave Keith a small smile. That anyone could think those things about him was overwhelming. “But, what did you  _ do _ ? Some kind of crazy fire mojo?” 

Keith blushed, but turned back to look at the oozing black wall.  _ I just did the same thing I do to warm you up. But it didn’t work until I actually thought about you. So I think...maybe...but that’s so  _ ** _gay_ ** _ !  _ he whined. 

Lance’s eyes widened a second and he started to scold Keith before a laugh snorted out of him instead. “Good thing you’re gay.” He pushed Keith a little towards the wall. “Try again.” 

With an embarrassed groan, Keith turned back to the wall. He placed his hand against the blackness, closing his eyes and picturing - Lance with his hair plastered down, rinsing shampoo as he stood in a broken tub, smiling up at Keith through the short spears of his bangs. The way he tapped his pencil against his shoe to the beat of whatever bullshit he was listening to while he studied. The way he cleaned like a monster and fussed at Keith when he left anything out. The sometimes-snort he’d make when Keith caught him off guard with a joke. 

The taste of him spilling down the back of Keith’s throat, thick and salty, perfect and addictive. His flushed, destroyed expression and the soft kisses he’d placed along Keith’s neck and shoulder when it was Keith’s turn. 

The way his arms felt as they held Keith, reassuring him he would never be alone again. 

The wall seemed to thin into a foggy, transparent membrane - but still it held. Through the grey, Keith could see the flames had returned without Lance there to put them out. As much as he pushed, as much energy as he summoned to his hands, he was running out and he was starting to fade. 

_ I can’t - It’s not enough -  _ he panted. 

Stepping forward, Lance placed a hand over Keith's and wrapped the other around his waist. He pressed as close to Keith as he could and whispered in his ear. "You got this. You're not alone now." Sliding his fingers through the spaces between Keith's, he pressed his palm firmly against the back of his hand. "We've got this." Maybe in this form Lance had ghost powers too. It was worth a shot. 

Lance mimicked Keith and thought about him- all times that he fell, over and over, for the dead boy with the messy black hair and the sideways smile. The way Keith calmed his anxiety with warm touches and the way he smiled like he was angry at Lance’s dumb jokes. The way he called him dweeb as if it was a replacement for  _ I love you. _

He thought about how Keith made him want to be better. Lance wanted to take care of himself so they could be equals. So that he could be Keith's heartbeat. 

The membrane snapped as everything Lance was feeling flowed through Keith and out from his fingers. Both boys stumbled through into the garage, flames licking up their legs and bringing the building down in phantom fire. Rain fell again. The Consumant, impossibly tall but now damaged, turned on them and screeched. 

Keith pressed his back into Lance’s front, fingers still laced together.  _ Alright, dweeb. Here we go.  _

Inwardly, Keith followed their whole timeline, and he brought Lance along for the ride. 

The string on the book. Lance’s face when it actually fell. 

_ FUCK YOU  _ scrawled across his arm. 

The moment Lance realized the words on his arm were coming from an actual person, a person who was dead. 

Lance on his bed, looking at the photo of Keith and Shiro together. The same bed where they had their first “slumber party,” yellow christmas lights and acoustic Kurt Cobain. 

The shock in those bright blue eyes when Lance saw him for the first time. 

Keith was doing the thing again. Lance could see everything Keith was thinking, which was mostly  _ himself _ and Lance still wasn’t used to it. How could the person in Keith’s memories be him? It was almost like Lance - Keith’s Lance - was made of light. He looked at Keith. Well. Maybe he  _ could _ understand.  _ Lance closed his own eyes.  _

Pressing his lips into Lance’s hair during  _ Shaun of the Dead,  _ the helpless unheard whisper of “What have you done to me, Lance?” as he realized he’d fallen in love. 

_ Love? From way back then? Lance shook his head and concentrated. He thought about how he was drawn to Keith the moment words wound their way down his arms. Without even seeing him, he’d trusted fully. There was a part of his soul that knew, that had always known that Keith was his other half.  _

The realization that Keith’s feelings were not only mutual, but that they shared - and had shared - some kind of otherworldly bond the entire time. 

_ Keith was as much a part of Lance as Lance’s own body. Keith’s body, phantasm or not, was seared into his fingerprints from the moment they touched. Just as their words were painted on one another’s bodies, their hearts were painted on one another’s souls. Lance had been abusing his body and Keith had showed him how to be gentle. By  _ loving _ him.  _

And then, just before -  _ I love you.  _ The simplest and most complicated thing in the world, immune to death. Lance was right. 

Nothing would keep them apart ever again. 

In their combined grasp, the blade Keith fashioned from red light and rain grew, became wicked. Its color swirled until it settled on a vibrant, neon purple that made the Consumant recoil, raising long, reed-like fingers to cover its non-existent eyes. 

The blade pulsed, combined power lighting it up with a savage, ethereal glow. 

My heartbeat. Your strength. Your heartbeat. My strength. With a roar, Keith broke from Lance and rushed the creature in front of them, slicing it down the middle until it split completely in half. The garage shook hard from the screaming, and whatever was left that could burst - bottles, jars, tires - all of it shattered and exploded. Glass rained down in shimmering dust as the darkness, the fire, all of it sucked in on itself before erupting back out, blasting the wooden walls open so that sunlight shot in. 

Everything was quiet. In the stillness that followed, the sound of birdsong and insects buzzing filtered in, the first noise of its kind in twenty years. The garage had swallowed light and sound and emotion, sucking it in like a murderous black hole. Now it felt… 

Empty. It just felt empty. 

It was gone. 

Keith let the blade dissolve and looked behind him at Lance. He gave a weak smile. 

“We did it,” he said, and his own voice sounded strange. When Lance’s eyes widened, Keith realized he had heard it.

Out loud. 

Sighing in relief, Lance put a hand over his heart. “Thank God...You  _ don’t _ sound like Mickey Mouse.” 

Keith chuckled, raspy and full of smoke, before collapsing to the floor. 

Lance’s tired half-smile fell. “Keith?!” He slid on his knees, coming to a stop in front of Keith’s crumpled body. Worried hands hung in the air with no idea what to do. “Keith, buddy. What’s going on?” His hands settled on lifting Keith’s head and running his fingers over flickering skin. 

“It’s gone.” Keith’s voice was thin and staticky. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Yeah and so are you.” It came out as more of a wish than a statement. Lance brushed a hand over Keith’s forehead and down the side of his face. Keith turned his head to kiss his palm before meeting Lance’s eyes and smiling. 

“See ya later,” he whispered. “Dweeb.” 

This time, he didn’t flicker out. His head just lolled back, hand dropping limp to the floor, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. 

“No.” Lance pulled Keith into his arms and cradled him in his lap. “Keith, this isn’t funny.” He ran his fingers through long strands and down his arms. He was like ice. ‘Keith’ fell like a mantra from his lips as he curled around the corpse. “Come back. We promised.” Tears splashed like raindrops over Keith’s death-pale skin as Lance rocked them back and forth. 

There was no one on the other side of their connection. 

That’s how Hunk and Pidge found him. Curled over the corpse of a boy who’d died twenty years ago, sobbing. 

Pidge put a hand on his shoulder but he could barely feel it. He thought they were speaking but he couldn’t hear them over the ringing in his ears. Hunk knelt down next to him, a corpse cradled in his own arms. Lance caught the movement from the corner of his eye and realized that Hunk was holding  _ him. _

“Sorry,” was the only thing that made it through the ringing as Hunk pressed some kind of plant into his hand. 

It felt like he was being turned inside out by his belly button and the next thing Lance knew he was in Hunk’s arms and Keith was lying sprawled on the dirty garage floor next to Pidge. Lance flailed, screaming for Keith, but Hunk’s arms were strong and held him close to his chest. 

Pidge knelt to run their hand over Keith’s eyes, closing them for the last time. 

Lance’s heart ripped. He hung limply from Hunk’s arms, reaching for Keith’s empty body. “But...I just found him.” 

“Shhh,” Hunk murmured into his best friend’s hair. “It’s time to go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We decided ch 8 is way too long so now we're turning the end of 8 into an epilogue so you get one more surprise "chapter"  
Thank you to Mintusti for betaing our insanity
> 
> Autumn: We are splitting part 8 into a chapter and an epilogue just to make things up to you. A (s)e(x)pilogue. Don’t leave.
> 
> Sail: *waves* I'd appreciate no one killing us after this. Remember what happens if you murder someone. I want to thank you for reading, for taking your time to enjoy this, for pressing that kudos or commenting your feelings even if it was just keyboard smashes. I love sharing this with you and having such a wonderful halloween adventure. Please stick around and follow us! We have a christmas story that's in the works that's an office au where Keith learns the meaning of christmas in a bad Hallmark Special kind-of-way! We also have some Fantasy (dragons) and slice of life (flowers) aus coming up and there *will* be a mermay fic, don't you worry. please feel free to scream in the comments *blows kiss*
> 
> \--  
I thought I'd share some behind the scenes:
> 
> Autumn: They have to do two things to get rid of it: Lance has to accept himself enough to be willing to confront and fight his ED. To want to live.  
They also need to solve Keith's murder. It was born from his murder and continued to exist because it went unsolved.  
So like a horcrux  
With uncertainty, it can still exist. Can't be killed until they know the truth  
So then they go to Sailor Moon it, and Lance is like "YOU MEAN WE LITERALLY JUST HAD TO LIKE...LOVE OURSELVES AND KUMBAYA AND SHIT AND WE CAN DEFEAT IT WITH THE POWER OF LOVE?" "...YEAH PRETTY MUCH" "KEITH THIS IS GAY joins hands with Keith" "I KNOW joins hands with Lance" LOVE BEEAAMMMMM  
\--  
I want people to love ghost dick as much as I do -Sail 2019  
Just ruminating on ghost dick -Autumn 2019
> 
> Follow us on Twitter for updates and more behind the scenes! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: This is the technical end of HWTRFD, but stay with us for the epilogue. It’s like, half of why we wrote this fic. Thank you so much for all the kind notes and support! 
> 
> Sail: And you've made it! no CW outside the tags set up and what you're already used to. :clap: more ghost dick :clap: I know that's why y'all are here, don't lie to me
> 
> Happy Birthday Keith!
> 
> Thank you everyone for all your support I can't thank you enough, ever next chapter is the epilogue that is 100% all fun and happies!
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

Lance’s head was quiet. Desperately, horrifically quiet. He'd grown comfortable having both Keith and the Consument vying for his attention and now there was only silence. 

He tightened his tie to the point of choking and then ripped it off. Nirvana played low in the background as he stared at his reflection. It was odd looking at himself; he’d gone so long avoiding mirrors so he wouldn’t have to see  _ It _ . He still cringed every time he passed one. Keith probably wouldn’t like him in a tie anyway, though, he might laugh at the amount of black he was wearing. Maybe he’d add more black, just for Keith. He switched his dress shirt for a black tee. 

Flicking off the boom box he’d stolen from Keith’s room - along with almost anything he could fit in his car - he locked his empty apartment. Empty, like the rest of his life. He felt a rock rattling in his chest, growing heavy as he left.

Pidge and Hunk were waiting for him downstairs. Pidge was also dressed in black, but Hunk wore all white with a lavalava wrapped around his waist. He pulled Lance into a tight hug as soon as he was close enough. 

“Tutu gave me this to give to you.” Hunk stepped apart and handed Lance a tin.

Lance opened the lid and was assaulted by the thick scent of incense. He quirked an eyebrow at Hunk. 

“You mix the ashes in and when you want, you can burn it in remembrance.” 

“Thanks, Hunk. Tell Tutu thanks, too.” Lance’s hand went to his pocket, touching the picture he’d printed. 

Hunk smiled, nodding and put an arm around Lance. “Let’s go, buddy.”

The spot they’d chosen wasn’t anywhere near the Red House or the cemetery. It was a spot Hunk chose, a spot in the woods that had a creek that ran through it and was a few hours away by car. Lance watched the trees pass by. The picture in his pocket felt like it was burning him. He didn’t let himself look at it. 

The trees began to rise higher on either side as they drove, and eventually they had wound their way up into the gentle slopes of a modest mountainside. After they parked the car, it was only a short hike to where the creek tumbled down from somewhere higher up, collecting in several different pools with small, babbling waterfalls. The trees still held most of their leaves, but they were alight with autumn, blazing in brilliant reds, oranges, golds, and maroons. 

Keith would have loved it. 

They gathered in the center of the clearing on Hunk’s instructions. He placed a bowl of the brook water off to the side. They all washed their hands before they set to work clearing the space and building the altar. 

Lance was raised Catholic so he didn’t really understand what they were doing, but it seemed not too far off from his abuelo’s funeral. This one, at least, didn’t have an old man making him kneel and stand over and over. Back then he’d clutched his rosary as he obediently prayed along with his family, tears running down his face until he couldn’t see the casket. 

This time, there were no tears. There wasn’t a casket, either. He didn’t even have his rosary, wherever that’d gone. He placed flowers on the white cloth they’d spread on the ground. Hunk’d told him to bring white flowers, but Lance couldn’t help but bring red ones. Hunk didn’t question him. Lance didn’t explain. Hunk put thick candles at the four edges of the cloth in different colors, lighting each of them.

Once they’d set up just as asked, Hunk held out a brass bowl expectantly. 

With cold fingers, Lance pulled Keith’s picture from his pocket. It was creased and a bit crumpled, but Lance could see the soft, private smile before placing it upright in the bowl. It was the same picture Lance had snapped so long ago from Keith’s yearbook. Pidge had suggested they use the one of Keith and Shiro, but Lance couldn’t. There was too much of Keith himself in that picture. Too much of Lance’s Keith as he opened up for the first time. 

The bowl was placed at the bottom of the altar with a book of matches. Lance stared at it as they all moved to their places.

It didn’t feel like he was here; it felt like he was a puppet on strings being controlled by someone else. As if someone lifted his arms and moved his mouth as he sat back and watched it happen. 

Once the cleansing had been observed, Hunk stood in front of them and said aloud to the forest, “We have come here to remember Keith Kogane, born October 23rd, 1979, died November 5th, 1998. He has passed over to the Summerland and there awaits rebirth. To do so, we look to the East and call upon the spirits of Air.” 

He looked at Pidge. They pulled a feather from their pocket and placed it gently on the ground. “May they carry his spirit on swift winds to a place of beauty and rest.”

“We look to the North and call upon the spirits of Earth.” From his bag, Hunk grabbed a leather drawstring pouch. He tugged on the thongs and poured out a small pile of rich, loamy soil in front of his designated candle. “May they help to ground those gathered here as we mourn and remember.” 

Now it was Lance’s turn. Hunk looked at him, voice quieter than before as he said, “We look to the West and call upon the spirits of Water.”

Lance stared at Hunk, waiting, before he realized that was his cue. He gripped his Pond's cold cream as he stepped forward. The container no longer had face wash inside. Lance had dumped it all out and filled it with odds and ends. The card of Steve from  _ Dream Phone _ , a single bulb from the string of Christmas lights, ripped tape from Keith's skateboard, a smashed up CD of  _ Heart _ he was able to find at a thrift store, and the corner of Keith's sheets. Hunk told him it needed to have something to do with water, so he'd filled the whole thing with one of the half used jugs at the house. The rock in his chest grew into a stone and settled over his heart.

He placed it down by the blue candle and stood there for a moment, bent over. Letting go felt so final. Hunk continued talking and Lance startled. Finally, he let go and stepped back. 

There was only one direction left. 

Hunk had put one of his travel cauldrons there as a stand-in and filled it with some sort of powder before they had begun. He looked to Lance. “You want to do this one, or…?” 

They had all agreed that no one could have stood in the place of fire but Keith himself, so lighting the cauldron in his stead was the best they could do. 

Lance stared at it and nodded. 

He took the book of matches from the bowl with Keith's picture. Hunk was saying something, but his ears were ringing. It wasn't fair. What kind of cruel designer placed soulmates twenty years apart and then killed one, only to have them eventually meet so they could be torn apart again? They were doomed before they could even begin. 

Lance struck the match, dropping it in the cauldron. The contents immediately caught and the sickly sweet aroma of smoke drifted to the sky. Lance watched it curl and twist. 

Hunk said his piece, something nice but sort of generically ritualistic. Lance wasn’t really listening. It wasn’t until Hunk had been silent for a bit that he realized they were both looking at him expectantly. 

"I don't-" Lance bit his lip, apologizing silently. 

“Usually, we take the time to relate a few good memories - things we liked about the deceased - that sort of thing,” Hunk explained gently. “I just said that I realized Keith was a great guy when we were walking him through your whole ‘How do I get you alone’ thing. He was so shy and awkward but also super determined to do anything it took to make you smile again.” 

“We talked about Mothman a few times when you guys were busy.” Pidge was toeing at the dirt with the tip of their nice dress shoes. “He was the first person to really get it when I talked. Not just nod politely and listen, but actually contribute. He got super heated and passionate about it. It was...it made a nice change.” 

Hunk gave him that same awful smile - sweet, understanding, and oh so sympathetic. “So now it’s your turn, Buddy. Whatever you want to say to honor who he was.” 

Lance touched his chest, feeling his heartbeat. So much for being Keith’s heartbeat. It all felt so foolish now. So pointless. Like this was always going to be the result and he was foolish to ever hope otherwise.

"Keith died twenty years ago. This shouldn't be something we're doing right now. We should be preparing for finals and hanging out complaining about ramen and hyped up on coffee. It's not fair.  _ He _ isn't fair," Lance said, staring down at the burning embers.

Keith left him. After he promised they'd stay together he gave up and left. Apparently Lance was only worth pretty words. He didn’t have any to give back.

He turned to the bowl with Keith's picture, incense sticks framing his soft smile in plumes of smoke. Plucking it from the altar, Lance shoved it into the burning cauldron. "Fuck." His fingers got a little too close to the fire and he stuck them in his mouth. Keith's picture caught in yellow flame. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and yell and break down in the safety of the forest where the only people who could see were his friends who understood. He couldn’t though. The stone clogged up all his tears along with his feelings. All he could do was stare.

Three pairs of eyes watched the paper turn to ash in silence. Lance waited until it was completely burned before facing the group, eyes dry and expression blank. "Thanks for doing this for me, but there's no point. Let's go home." 

\--

This time it must have been cinnamon buns because the old kitchen smelled like sugar and warm spices. 

Keith wandered in, not actually all that surprised to be back. Hattie was rolling a log of dough over the counter and didn’t lookup. 

“Pour your own tea if you want any. I’ll be just a moment more,” she called out to him. Keith decided he was good on tea for probably eternity and just took a seat in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace. He listened to the rhythmic chopping as Hattie cut slices of dough and arranged them into a dish. As soon as she had slid them into the coal fire oven, she came over and settled into her own chair. 

“Well!” She beamed and patted his knee, leaving a flour stain on his black jeans. “The hero of the hour, innit? You did well, lad. Very well indeed.” 

Keith smiled back. He had done well, hadn’t he? “Well sure, but I couldn’t have done it without Lance.” 

Hattie’s smile grew soft and warmed her eyes. “You lot finally figured it out, then? Why you could talk and write on his skin?” 

“Yeah.” He fidgeted and blushed, but he was still smiling. 

“That’s good. He’ll be fine now, and you can finally go home.” 

Keith frowned and looked around. “But I am-“ 

Hattie pointed to the ceiling and gave him a knowing look. “No, you’re not. Time to go from here to the What Comes Next. Time to see your ma and pa - well, the one what loved you, not the other two, you won’t be seeing them. They’ve been waiting.” 

Panicking a little now, Keith backed into the chair. “No. No, I’m just recharging. I’ll wake up soon. With Lance.” 

The shake of her head sent limp brown strands into Hattie’s face. “No, love. You’re not. You’re here now, for good.” 

“ _ No!”  _ Keith shrieked and stood, sending the chair crashing to the ground. “No! My whole life, I put up with all this bullshit to make my family happy, to make them proud, to not make waves, and  _ look where it got me _ . Flambeed, Hattie. Fucking  _ barbecued  _ in my own goddamn garage!” 

Hattie made a face. “Watch your tongue, lad, there are ladies present, and I don’t mean just me.” 

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want!” He could feel himself heating up, the red glow starting to pulse in his palms. “I’m not leaving. I  _ earned _ this.” 

Tilting her head, Hattie considered him sadly. “You did. You earned your freedom, the chance to see your parents again. Your Ma especially has been waiting.” 

The news that his mother was dead gave Keith pause. He considered, toying with the sleeves of the flannel tied around his waist. When he spoke, though, it was with firm conviction. 

“I was already never going to see my family again. I can wait a while longer, and so can they. When I cross over or whatever the hell, it will only be because it’s Lance’s time, and we’ll go together.” 

A log popped and crackled in the fireplace, sending up sparks. They looked at each other across centuries. Finally, Hattie shrugged and smiled. 

“Alright then.” 

Keith blinked. “...Wait, really? It was that easy?” 

“Aye, of course.” Hattie stood and put her large hands on his arms. “No one need leave the in-between before they’re ready, and being ready means being free of anything tying you back to life. And you, my gem, are so tied and re-tied you may as well be a rug.” She gave a little wave of her hand and Keith saw it for the first time - the thread he had known existed, the one binding him to Lance, extending from his chest out beyond where he could see. It seemed dull and frayed, though. He had imagined it to be a little more… 

“Fancy?” Hattie guessed, and Keith realized he must have said that out loud. Or maybe not. Who knew. 

“Well...yeah.” 

“That’s because your stringbean of a boy is in mourning.” 

Keith’s heart clenched. “In mourning? For what? For who?” 

Hattie shrugged. “You. You left behind your, ah, body, as it were, when you defeated the demon creature. So you’re well and truly dead on the other side now. You’ll have to start all over with another body when you go back.” 

“Oh god,  _ Lance _ ,” Keith hissed. “I gotta go. I gotta go right the fuck now.” He turned to go, but was yanked back by the collar of his t-shirt. Whirling on Hattie with venom in his eyes, it died out when she pulled him into a warm, sugar-scented hug. 

“You go, lad, if this is what you want. You go back to him and make that boy happy. But give an old, old woman a bit of a hug before you do.” 

Confused, Keith embraced her back. “Why? Can’t I come see you again?” 

She pulled away, fat wet drops making their way down her ruddy cheeks, but she didn’t look sad. Far from it. She looked, well,  _ proud.  _ “Mayhaps on the other side, I’m no expert. But not here like this again. You were my tie, my boy, and now I can go. Thought maybe we’d go together, but like you said - I can wait. I’ll tell your Ma and Pa you said hello.” 

Keith felt inexplicably sad, even if he’d only met this woman - ghost - whatever - twice. “Why? Why me?” 

Hattie dabbed roughly at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “You needed looking after and I was qualified. Had some little ones I was charged to look after before - ages ago now - but s’pose I didn’t try hard enough. I failed them. Watching out for you? That’s been my second chance.” She smiled sadly at her hands. “We all watched you grow, saw it all, and when you passed and that thing was born, well. I knew you’d need a kind word and a bit of help.” 

Keith brought her close and hugged her fiercely. “Thanks,” he said, and it was inadequate, but she didn’t seem to mind. He felt a damp kiss on his cheek and then she was pulling away from him. 

“You be alright now,” Hattie said thickly, and it was a command, not a question. 

Keith smiled - genuinely smiled, with absolutely nothing weighing it down. “I will be. It sorta took a while but...crazy enough? Now that I’m dead, I feel like I finally get to live.” 

Her motherly chuckle was the last thing he remembered, and the fond voice saying, “Aye, you do, lad. That you do.” 

\--

Lance played with the Christmas lights’ switch as he stared up at the ceiling, clicking it on and off. Nothing happened when he did. They hadn’t worked since Keith left. They probably didn’t work when Keith was here. Whether it was magic or coincidence, it didn’t matter. It was just one more thing to remind Lance that he was really, truly gone. 

He had therapy in an hour and he should be getting ready. Hunk would be here any minute to take him. He and Pidge had been taking turns getting Lance out of the house and making sure he went to therapy for over a month now. No one could really ask for better friends. It shouldn’t hurt so much. Why was a dead person dying so hard? 

Buzz Buzz Buzz

Hunk was here. Lance didn’t have to look at his phone to know. Ugh. He was still in his underwear. Shooting a quick text back, he peeled himself off the sheets. Throwing on clean pants and a clean shirt, he grabbed his wallet and headed downstairs. Maybe after therapy, Hunk would want to hang a bit while Lance decompressed. Hunk was always good for that.

The drive there was mostly uneventful and Lance figured neither his friend nor his therapist would care that he wore pajamas. Some days, pajamas were valid. Today was one of those days. Hunk let him choose the music and he chose silence. A headache was already forming at the base of his skull and any kind of music sounded horrendous. It was times like this he didn’t miss the others clamoring in his head. That was one thing he couldn’t talk about during therapy.

It was hard to explain exactly what was going on in his head when he knew he’d either not be believed or they would think it was some other disorder and diagnose him with something he didn’t have. That was largely where Hunk and Pidge came in. They were anchors in a world that was turned upside down and shaken. Without them, he wouldn’t be sure that any of the past months had even happened. 

“Pidge was thinking we could go see that triple feature tonight at the dollar theater,” Hunk piped up cheerfully. “You know, since they’re doing old black and white creature features for Halloween? I think they’ve got that one you like with the tree thing that comes out of the swamp.”

_ “From Hell It Came _ . It’s so bad even Pidge doesn’t like it.” Lance slumped down in his seat, resting his foot on the dash. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling. We should at least go next weekend. If we don’t Pidge will probably kill us both. Swamp-tree style.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hunk hummed cheerfully for a while, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “So,” he said after a stretch of silence. “You like your therapist?”

Lance lolled his head to the side so he could stare up at Hunk. “No, she’s awful and I hate her,” he deadpanned. 

“Really?” Hunk frowned. “I thought it was going okay…Oh. You’re being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, she’s fine. She struggled with a similar thing, so like, she gets a lot of what I’m saying. It’s nice. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying to her, though.”

“How come?” 

Lance shrugged and looked out the window. They were almost there. “Ya’know, the whole  _ thing  _ with the house. Now that I’ve gained weight back, her questions are getting harder to answer without talking about...everything.”

Hunk left that one be, the raw wound that didn’t need any more salt. “Yeah. I guess it would be.”

They sat in silence as Hunk pulled up alongside a corporate looking building. The plaza was full of different health associated businesses and his therapist was right next door to an orthodontist. The giant smiling tooth with braces looked as gleeful as ever. 

“I’ll see you after?”

Hunk smiled at him and waved the textbook he had brought along. “I’ll be here.” 

“And Hunk, thanks for still sticking with me. I know I can be hard sometimes.” 

“No thanks needed. It’s a favor for me. If I didn’t sit here and read, I would never do it, and then I would never pass Chem. So thanks for letting me use you to my selfish advantage.” Hunk winked and waved him off. 

The day was cheerfully sunny and even a little warm for October. Sometimes, Lance wished the weather would match his mood, like he was in a movie. That his dark thoughts would summon a thunderstorm. At the very least, it would be nice if the sky could give him some clouds. 

He hated talking about his eating habits at the best of times, but he really did like talking to his therapist. She never judged him, no matter what he confessed to. It made it easier and easier to tell her the truth. Well, not the actual truth. The old truth. The  _ before _ truth. 

True to his word, Hunk was dutifully studying Chemistry when Lance opened the passenger door. Without speaking or being asked, Hunk passed him a bottle of water, and tugged a travel blanket from behind Lance’s seat. “Hey man - how’d it go?” 

Lance sipped at the water before answering as Hunk placed the blanket over his lap. He snuggled into it, bringing his knees to his chest. "Not great. She says I'm doing better." 

“Doing better isn’t great?” Tone casual, Hunk put the car in reverse and looked over his shoulder. 

“I told you, I feel like I’m lying. I can’t-” Lance sighed, cutting himself off. “There’s things I can’t tell her, or  _ anyone _ and that stuff is messing with me.” He buckled his seat belt and shifted so the blanket was covering him all the way to his chin. 

“Not anyone,” Hunk corrected gently. “Just two people. But I understand. And I’m sorry it’s extra complicated.”

“It's not your fault.” He watched the smiling tooth until it was blocked by another building. “I just want to forget. Can any of your witchy powers erase a person from your memory?” 

“You really wanna do that?”

Hunk was staring at the road with eyes too sad for evening traffic. His hand came over to rest on top of the blanket. 

“Why not? Wouldn’t it be easier?”

Hunk shrugged. “Well sure. But then you wouldn’t have the good stuff either.”

Lance made a non-committal sound. “Maybe the good stuff hurts more.”

“Maybe.” The hand on Lance’s blanket was heavy and sure. “But that’s just part of living, dude. You take em both when they come.” 

“I don’t like it when you make sense.” Lance inch-wormed his fingers under the blanket until he could hold Hunk’s hand through the fuzzy fabric.

The fuzzy fabric squeezed back. “Good thing it doesn’t happen often.”

Lance snorted and finished off his water. “I’ll text you about the movie after dinner?”

Hunk nodded, but didn’t take back his hand. “Sure thing, buddy. Whatever you feel like doing? That’s what we want to do.”

“I want…” Lance bit his lip. He wanted Hunk to stop treating him like he was about to break. He wanted both of them to stop putting their own feelings aside for his. He wanted all their texts and words to stop ending with an uptone of concern. He wanted- “to be normal.”

“It’ll all get there, buddy. One day at a time.” 

\--

Lance closed the door, kicking off his shoes and emptying his pockets on the floor. That had been especially rough. Thank everything that is good that Hunk took such good care of him after therapy. He might take up his offer to watch movies tonight. It was just that Lance was starting to feel like a burden. He should be over Keith by now, he shouldn’t be struggling with food still. Why was he still a mess? Why did his friends still insist on helping him? 

He fell onto the couch and let his eyes wander over all the stuff he’d stolen from Keith’s room. Each one was embedded with painful, bittersweet memories. Could he even move on knowing that he had a soulmate and his soulmate was dead? Would it be fair to the other person? He might be able to date again as long as no one expected him to love them. Lance raked his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the shaggy strands. No, how cruel would that be to himself and the other person? He would be alone. Maybe he could get a cat or a lot of cats. Become a cat lady and live out his life making cat videos for the internet. 

The heavy stone in his throat clogged up his tears, like it always seemed to do these days. He still hadn’t cried. Even when Pidge or Hunk cried and talked about their time at the Red House, Lance could feel the stone pressing down on him; numbing him. He’d grown thankful for the numbness. It meant he could go about his daily tasks like go to school and hang out with friends and concentrate on his health. 

Letting the stone settle his heart, he felt his face relax. All lines of tension receded and he stared blankly ahead. How long he laid there, Lance wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his stomach was growling and he wasn’t going to break his meal streak over a dead ghost. 

He changed out of his pajamas for the first time that day. They felt heavy, as if they'd collected all the stress of the day and stored it between the fluffy cats chasing yarn. Throwing on an old shirt and new underwear he felt so much better. No one would be coming over and he didn't have anything to do 'til tonight. Time to spend some quality time with himself. 

Today was spaghetti day. He found when he mixed foods that were harder for him to eat with Cuban elements into a sort of fusion cuisine, it made it easier to eat. Instead of being food, he could think of it as celebrating his heritage. He had Keith to thank for that. Thinking about food as memories and experiences instead of numbers was mind blowing. It was almost sick how much of his life was woven into the short time he’d spent with Keith. Though, he had a feeling that this was just one life they’d shared out of many.

Lance flicked on the boombox and pressed play. As the low notes of Kurt Cobain’s voice rolled through the apartment, he set about boiling the pasta and making the sauce. It was a variation he’d created with ropa vieja stew as a base idea since it had tomatoes in it. Last time it turned out awful. Too watery and the flavors were just  _ bad. _ This time he had a plan. He was following a recipe for sauce and substituting the other ingredients and spices with those of ropa vieja.

He hummed along with the song, letting the day wash away with Cobain’s guitar. 

\--

When Keith woke up, it was most certainly  _ not  _ in the Red House. 

He was staring at a ceiling that was white, but had posters of space-related shit all over it - enough that it sort of looked like the night sky. Sunlight was streaming through an open window, chill air breezing over his skin and causing - he sat up and stared. Goosebumps. He was chilly and had goosebumps. Confused as hell, Keith looked around, trying to figure out what the actual fuck was going on. 

He found a few familiar objects. Some of his posters decorated the walls, and his quilt was draped across the wood frame at the end of the bed. To his right, the picture of Shiro and him at graduation was framed and sharing space on the nightstand with...a very old bottle of Bath & Body Works lotion. 

_ Lance.  _ He had to be in Lance’s room. No one else would have grabbed  _ that  _ as if it were a souvenir. But how had he gotten here? Why wasn’t he in his old room at Paxton? 

Confused, he stood and caught his reflection in the floor-length mirror. Coming back a second time evidently allowed him a little more leeway with a few things, and now he sported a pair of skinny black jeans ripped at the knees as well as a black long-sleeved shirt. The red Chucks were still there, though, which was a relief. And - oh, look, he’d given himself some new piercings: eyebrow, ears, two on his lower lip. Sweet. 

Pushing open the door, he could hear Nirvana, but not his MTV Unplugged CD. This was actual Nirvana - “Heart-Shaped Box” to be exact. He hadn’t had that one. The sound was coming from his old boombox, sitting on a modest little dining room table, and beyond it - 

Oh, god. Keith just about melted. 

Lance was in a small kitchen, facing the stove, rubbing the toe of his shoe against the calf of the other leg. He was chopping vegetables and singing along, soft and a little sad, but pretty nonetheless. His hair had gotten longer and curled up at the ends against his neck. He looked...broader. Healthier. Better. 

Keith couldn’t help himself anymore. He closed the distance between them and reached around, grabbing the knife from Lance so as not to make the boy accidentally cut himself. As he did, he pressed his cheek against Lance’s and purred, “Hey, beautiful. Whatcha makin’?” 

Lance jumped up and down screaming as he spun. His screech rose in pitch when he locked eyes with Keith and he slapped at Keith’s chest with open hands as if he was trying to stop himself from punching. “I almost killed you!” he yelled and shoved Keith again. 

There was a moment of silence as Nirvana took over the room, Lance staring at Keith and Keith staring back.

“You’re not Hunk,” Lance said dumbly. “You’re not Hunk! What the fuck.” Something shifted in Lance’s eyes as panic narrowed into recognition. Lance stumbled back and knocked into the counter. He squinted, blinked, closed his eyes, and opened them again. “I need to take my meds.” Lance walked out of the kitchen, heading for the bathroom. 

Keith scrambled after him, grabbing his wrist to halt his escape, and pulled him back. He couldn’t help the dumb smile splitting his face wide if he tried. “Okay, first of all,  _ ow.  _ Way to welcome a guy back. Two, hi, it’s good to see you too. Three, it’s not your meds. I mean, you should take your medication, yes, but that’s not why - I…” he trailed off, looking around. “Why am I here, anyway? Why not Paxton?” 

“Keith?” Lance’s hand hovered between them. He was too scared to touch him in case he disappeared. 

“Lance,” Keith replied, still grinning. 

“But we had a funeral. I held your corpse. The connection…” Lance could feel it bright and shining inside him, like a freshly knotted tether. He looked down as if he’d be able to see it winding itself around their hearts. 

He didn’t have a chance to look for long, because Keith crushed him close, squeezing so hard it hurt. “Oh, god, I forgot - I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He repeated this into Lance’s hair, pressing kisses there between each repetition. “For me, I was only gone about ten minutes. How long have you been waiting?” 

“A month and a half. It’s almost Halloween.” Lance could feel the stone crumbling inside him. With a shaky hand, he combed his fingers through Keith’s hair. It was silky and smooth and as addicting as it had been before, but most importantly: Real. He buried his nose into the unfamiliar smell. Keith didn’t smell like warm electronics; he smelled like camping in the mountains. He smelled like the stars glittering between balsam firs. He smelled like Lance had found home. 

“Halloween, huh.” Keith leaned in, nudging Lance’s nose with his own and giving him a playful little smile. “Seems kinda spooky. You might see a ghost.” 

Lance smiled, letting out a soft breath of a laugh. His eyes searched Keith’s - eyes he’d thought he’d never see again, lips and skin and hair and a voice he’d thought he’d lost forever, were all right in front of him. His smile cracked. The stone pressing against his heart shattered, releasing the floodgate it’d held back. The rest of his face shattered along with it and Lance brought their foreheads together. 

Immediately, Keith tensed and gripped him tighter. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Tears fell in hot streaks down Lance’s face as he began to sob. “You were gone. You left me. You promised.” Lance squeezed Keith to him but it wasn’t enough. He jumped slightly and wrapped both legs around Keith’s hips, clinging to him like a koala. “You promised,” he said wetly into the side of Keith’s neck. 

Keith could feel his heart clench, and he marveled at that - he knew he was a ghost, most assuredly still dead, but something about wanting to live so badly must have transferred over with him from the other side. Or he didn’t have a hunger demon tied to him and he could do more with his physical self. Something. Either way, he felt an actual heartbeat that seemed almost real, and that not-quite-real-heart was breaking at the broken, terrible sounds coming from the boy he loved. 

Keith held Lance close, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he tried to navigate to the carpeted floor of the small living room. With more strength and grace than he realized he possessed, he lowered himself to his knees and then gently placed Lance on the ground, sliding up beside him to hold him close. He cupped the wet face, kissed wet lashes, ran his hand over that longer-but-so-soft hair. 

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a choice. That fight took more than I had to give, and I - I  _ had  _ to, Lance! The - the cinnamon roll lady, she wanted me to go, to die, like, for good, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t go, I had to come back. I have to be with you. I’m never leaving you, never again, never in any reality. Okay? I’m here. I’m home. And I love you so goddamn much, Lance.” 

"I hate the cinnamon roll lady." Lance wiggled closer. Even if every inch of his body was touching Keith, Lance didn't think it’d be enough. It was amazing how Keith's chest rumbled as he spoke and how warm he felt to the touch. So much had changed and yet he was the same. He finally,  _ finally, _ let the tears fall, let them have their way with him. Ugly and loud and full of snot, he cried as Keith held him. 

How long they lay there as Lance sobbed, he wasn’t sure, but the music had stopped a long time ago. Small hiccups replaced the tears and Lance pulled back, just enough to be able to see Keith.  _ See Keith. _ His heart hiccuped along with his chest.

Lance’s red eyes stung with salty tears as he studied Keith. "I love you. I never stopped; I would never stop. I couldn’t." 

Keith ran a soothing hand over Lance’s back, drawing little trees and stars and hearts with his finger. “If they had tried to take me, I would have fought my way back.” 

Lance’s tears had dried tight and itchy on his cheeks. He probably also had dried snot and looked absolutely gross. Still, none of that seemed to matter anymore. Lance blinked up at Keith. "I'm going to kiss you." 

Rolling them over helpfully so that Lance was straddling his lap, Keith’s lips quirked in a smile. “Never stop.” 

Lance pushed Keith to the floor, following him down. Tracing a thumb across Keith's full lips, he bent and stole them for himself. Lance sighed. He had no intention of stopping for the rest of his life. 

Content with this change of pace, Keith opened to him immediately. He caught Lance’s lower lip and tugged it with his teeth, carding his fingers through Lance’s hair. He brought his knees up on either side to form a sort of cage and abandoned himself to sensation. Everything felt heavier, more real and visceral, without that strange electric current. Out of curiosity, he tried to heat his hands and found that he still could. He would have hated to lose the one skill that brought Lance so much comfort, all those nights in his bed… 

Keith broke their kiss abruptly, reeling back to glare at Lance. “Hold on - explain to me why the  _ fuck  _ you brought that lotion.” 

Lance rolled his eyes and tried to resume their make out session. Keith dodged and Lance huffed. He let his head drop to snuggle into the crook of Keith's neck. "Not telling." Lance could feel the heat blossoming on his face. When he'd taken it he'd never thought he'd ever have to explain. 

With Lance all hidden away like a cowardly turtle, Keith took the opportunity to turn his lips to the red shell of Lance’s ear. “...Did you  _ use  _ it?” 

Lance shoved Keith, but didn't move. "No! Oh my God. It would probably melt my skin it's so old." Lance tried to hide in Keith's neck. "It was the last thing you might have smelled like," he mumbled. 

Keith couldn’t help but laugh, pressing Lance’s face closer to his neck protectively. “My  _ dick  _ maybe. But - okay. You gross, romantic sap.” Keith held him back a little so he could look at the red, blotchy, beautiful face of his soulmate. “We can totally pick up where we left off, but first - why aren’t we in the house? Or, I mean, this has to be your place, right? So why am  _ I  _ here?” 

Lance shrugged. "I don't even know how you got back other than you defeated a giant cinnamon roll. The afterlife is  _ wild _ . Oh! We could ask Hunk, or Tutu. They might know.” 

A finger to his lips stopped him. “Okay, that...was a lot of words, not many of them accurate. New plan. Go back to kissing, worry about the afterlife later?” 

"We should put you in charge more often." Lance nibbled at Keith's finger. 

Keith pulled it away and hooked it under Lance's chin, drawing him down for a kiss. 

Lance never did make it to horror movie night. 

\-- 

Keith came back to Lance towards the end of October. It was Pidge who reminded him on the sly, that during their investigation - was it only weeks ago? It felt like decades - they’d learned that Keith’s birthday was October 23rd. 

Step one, decided Lance, was some scientific inquiry into whether or not Keith 2.0 could eat ice cream. And cake. And, more importantly, go outside.

Actually, that last part was an accident. It was embarrassingly uneventful how Lance discovered that Keith was not tied to his room. They had sort of assumed that, like with the Red House, Keith wouldn't be able to leave. They found out they were both wrong when, in the middle of a heated conversation about what a cinnamon bun lady  _ was  _ \- or more accurately, was not _ \-  _ Keith had stopped in his tracks. 

“I don’t understand why heaven is a kitchen with some old lady making sna--” Lance stopped when he realized Keith was no longer following him and turned around to see Keith staring. “Hey, Earth to Keith.”

He was looking down at the grass. Nudging at it a bit with his shoe, bending over to run his hand through it. Then he straightened and looked up at the sky. Keith’s mouth fell open a little, like he was in awe, the sun warming his skin from unnaturally white and blue to a shade of human, just very, very pale. He turned to Lance with a wide grin and suspiciously sparkling eyes and pointed up. “Lance. It’s the sun.” 

“Yeah, duh. It’s day…” Lance looked up at the building they’d walked out of and down at Keith. “Dude. You’re outside.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Keith was grinning like a madman, holding his arms out so the sun could warm them. “I haven’t seen the sun in 20 years. Wow, it’s  _ bright _ .” 

"Come on, then, sunshine." Lance held out his hand. "Let's go see what you've been missing." 

So for the very first time, they were just two boyfriends going on an actual date. Well, not a  _ date _ date, not a fancy one, but out together to do something fun. There was an old, 50s-style soft serve place in the historic part of downtown that made their custard in vintage Electro Freeze machines. The line always wrapped around the building, no matter the weather, which meant that Lance got to admire the way Keith’s hyper-pale skin reflected the blue and purple neon of the stand’s sign and other people got to send him sideways glances and shift uncomfortably. There was nothing to indicate that the boy in the dark clothes was anything other than a perfectly alive emo kid who never saw the sun, but clearly he gave off some kind of vibe that afforded them a wide berth. It suited them both just fine. 

“So we got vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. What do you want your first taste to be? I mean, besides my dick.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows. 

“ _ Wow _ .” Keith sent him a look that said he was clearly unimpressed. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Not even sure what will happen.” 

"But what if it  _ does  _ matter? You don't want your first time eating in forever to be shitty." Lance pulled Keith to his side and kissed his hand. "If it doesn't work out, I'll eat it and you can kiss it off me." 

“Oh my god,  _ stop _ , everyone’s looking!” Keith ducked his head in embarrassment. No one was looking. 

Lance chuckled and tucked Keith under his chin. “I’ll stop if you’re uncomfortable, but you still have to pick a flavor.” 

“Strrbrmy,” Keith grumbled into Lance’s sweater, nuzzling his nose in closer to take in Lance’s cologne. 

“Was that so hard?” Lance pulled his jacket around Keith and rubbed his back. “Get on my feet, I’ll walk us up the line while you hide.” 

“No, that’s stupid.” Keith stayed nuzzled close but chanced a look around. Even if he hadn’t been dead for twenty years, it was always unsettling being in public. Now, standing in line at an ice cream shop in the crispness of fall was stranger and more uncomfortable than existing in the same house as several dozen deceased people in various stages of wounded or decayed. 

He shook that thought as they reached the counter. 

"One strawberry cone to share." Lance shifted Keith so he could get to his wallet. He loved this place but they didn't need to take cash like they were still in the 50's. 

"Aw, that's so cute. I'll give you the couples special." She winked. "$3.50 with free sprinkles, and I'll make them rainbow just for you." 

Lance handed over a five. Keith groaned and buried closer. 

“What. Happened. In. Twenty. Years,” he mumbled as the lady made change and handed it back to Lance along with passing over a perfectly swirled pink cone, true to her word, covered in rainbow. 

Keith wasted no time in pulling Lance around the side of the building, away from prying eyes in case eating anything did in fact fall right through him - like  _ Casper _ , as Lance had helpfully pointed out. Lance barely had time to grab a few napkins before they were huddled in the trash alley like snuggly drug dealers. 

“Okay. Um.” Keith said, hesitantly bringing the cone to his mouth and looking at Lance over its tip. He poked his tongue out and licked off the very top of the curl, frowning as he pulled it back for a taste. Nothing happened. He took a bigger lick, chewed the sprinkles, and his eyes went huge. 

“Whoa,” he said, then looked up at Lance. “Uh. So. Yes?” 

"Does it fall through you?" Lance looked at the ground around Keith, but the street was so dirty he couldn't tell. 

“No?” Keith stuck out his tongue. “Cah ooh ee-” He pulled it back in and tried again. “Tell me if my tongue changes colors.” Another lick and then he stuck his tongue out again. 

“Not really. What about this?” Lance licked some ice cream for himself and held Keith’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. Taking advantage of the pink tongue sticking out of Keith’s open mouth, Lance kissed him, sharing the treat. 

Like pushing an off switch, Keith went slack, winding his arms around Lance’s neck and tilting his head to eagerly suck his tongue - which did, indeed, taste like strawberry. 

\-- 

So, now Lance knew three things: Keith could go outside, “eat,” sort of, and he liked strawberry ice cream best. That was enough to plan a birthday party, or at least to start. 

Hunk made the cake, Pidge was bringing the entertainment, and Lance put himself in charge of decorations. Getting them without Keith wasn’t as hard as he thought. Keith was used to being a homebody and forgot he could follow Lance outside half the time. 

He had everything that would make a birthday party perfect: streamers, little hats, candles, balloons, and booze. Lance looked down at the red bag that stuck out from all the other plain plastic ones: a present. Hopefully Keith would like it. At first he wasn’t sure what to get a  _ ghost _ for his  _ birthday _ , but Lance was almost sure this was going to be perfect. 

Now, to get rid of Keith. 

Lance stored the supplies in Hunk’s apartment before heading home. Keith was laying in bed listening to the boombox and scrolling through news websites. He’d been reading up on the years he missed. “Hi, honey, I’m home.” 

“Ha ha.” Keith didn’t look up from the laptop. Lance leaned over Keith’s shoulder to see what year he was on. Yikes, he was getting into more recent news that did not bode well for birthday vibes. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Lance asked, as he settled behind Keith. 

“Mm.” 

That wasn’t a no. “Pidge needs help and you’re apparently the only one ghost-enough to do it.” Lance kissed the top of his head. “I can tell them no.” 

“No.” Keith closed the laptop. “I’ll do it. They there now?” 

Lance nodded. “I don’t know what it was, exactly, something about wiring between walls. I think they might need to go to the store, though. Pidge said they needed an adapter.” 

“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Keith sat up and kissed him, blinking out in the middle. 

“Hopefully not,” Lance said to an empty room. Pidge should keep him  _ very  _ busy. 

Shooting Hunk a text that the cost was clear, Lance started cleaning. He was going to make this  _ perfect _ . 

An hour of cleaning and decorating had Lance’s tiny apartment looking downright festive. Red streamers hung from the ceiling with floating balloons. More balloons scattered across the floor in red and blue. Hunk’s cake sat on a table with a  _ Ninja Turtles _ tablecloth and confetti. A stack of birthday hats were ready to wear with a Sweet 16 crown for the birthday boy. Hunk texted Pidge that they were ready while Lance worked on some last minute touches and turned the lights down low. 

It took about fifteen minutes for Pidge to walk across campus to Lance’s apartment, and they sent a warning ahead that they’d insisted Keith walk too to keep them company. It would be more of a surprise for the party goers than the birthday boy if said birthday boy popped into existence in the middle of the room, but the text also said Keith wasn’t happy about it with a “rofl” at the end. 

“So  _ if  _ that theory is correct,” Pidge was talking ridiculously loud, announcing their presence. “Then that would mean -“ 

“Pidge, I didn’t understand a word of that so I won’t understand the implications either. Please stop talking.” 

“THAT would mean-“ Pidge pushed open the door. 

“Happy Birthday!” Lance and Hunk yelled, popping confetti poppers at Keith. 

“It’s your birthday,” finished Pidge with a smirk. 

Keith froze. The confetti fluttered through the air and slowly came to rest on the floor. A small, confused wrinkle formed between Keith’s eyebrows as he processed what was happening. 

“...Oh! I forgot.” He smiled shyly up at Lance. “Is this a birthday party?” 

“That’s what it looks like doesn’t it?” Lance took the crown from the table and placed it on Keith’s head with a kiss. 

Keith chuckled. “I like my tiara.” 

"Good." Lance grinned and stepped aside to reveal a lit cake.  _ Bless Hunk _ . "Right this way, Birthday King." 

He turned down the lights and they sang happy birthday. Pidge added a few extra lines about infinite birthdays when you're dead that didn't quite fit in the tune. 

In good humor, Keith bent forward as if to blow out his candles before making a show of snapping his fingers to extinguish them all at once. He looked at Lance with a cocky little smirk and an eyebrow lift. 

"Show off." Lance handed him a candle to lick as Hunk cut the cake. "Presents!" he said as if he were the one receiving them. 

There was a box wrapped in hippo print and a giant red bag with colorful tissue paper sticking out of the top. 

Pidge stole a candle for themselves. "Mine is on my laptop. So we'll watch it later." 

"The box is from me and the bag is from Lance," Hunk said, handing him a slice of cake. 

Keith accepted his cake and smiled at them all, shifting a little self-consciously. “Thanks.” It was a simple sentiment but it was hard to express anything else; he was too busy being overwhelmed. “First birthday party.” 

“In twenty years, yeah?” Hunk grinned. “Way overdue, my dude.” 

“No,” Keith shook his head. “I mean ever. We did cake and a few gifts at my house, but, yeah.” 

Hunk, in all his warm Hunkiness, swept in to clap Keith on the back before anyone could struggle with what to say to that. “And we’ll make it one to remember. Now try your cake.” 

So they tried the cake, a Black Forest cake with generous cherries, and Keith nearly died a second time, trying not to moan around every bite. They were still figuring out his body and how things would work, and Keith’s conclusion was that food just sort of...disappeared...when he ate. By the time he swallowed, it basically just ceased to exist. So that was weird. 

Weirder still? The pendant necklace thing made of crystals strung together with wire that Hunk gave him. 

“Just wear it on Samh- on Halloween. Trust me,” he said with an unsettling wink. 

Keith opened Lance’s present slowly, pulling it out tissue paper by tissue paper. It drove his boyfriend crazy as he demanded Keith pick up the pace and open it already. 

The sound he let out was part gasp, part mewl, and all around embarrassing. It was his own skateboard, but it also wasn’t. It had new wheels, trucks, and grip tape as well as a touched up paint job, and it looked better and more complete than the day he’d gotten it. It couldn’t have been more thoughtful, and Keith had to bite his cheek hard to keep from crying when he grabbed Lance in an unrelenting python hug. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispered thickly. “You’re perfect. Thank you.” 

Lance squeezed back. "If the shop messed anything up, they said they'd fix it. I also made them print a list of everything they did, because I couldn't follow it." 

"You can be gross while you watch my present." Pidge took their cake into the section Lance had dubbed the living room. It was the part of the apartment where he had a monitor set up with a Playstation. Pidge had connected their laptop to it instead and once everyone sat on the floor they pressed play. 

There was Lance in Paxton Manor, doing the intro to their project. 

"Pidge. What is this?" 

"Shh, just watch." 

The whole clip played out as a fairly typical paranormal documentary. Any info about Keith was cut and instead the story focused around the other residents, their stories across the centuries, and how the house should be preserved as a part of the city’s legacy and as a fun haunted house to raise money for charity. 

"I turned this in for our project and sent it to the community of historical houses. Paxton Manor is being considered for preservation." Pidge shrugged like it was nothing, but their face was bright. "Happy birthday." 

“Aww,  _ Pigeon,”  _ Lance cooed at the same time Keith gave them a huge smile. 

“That...means a lot. Thank you.” He cocked his head. “Do...uh, can I-“ 

Pidge answered his question for him by giving him a quick, tight hug. “Come here, you big dead idiot.” Keith smirked and hugged them back, looking over the top of their unruly hair at the other two. “This is seriously the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you guys.” 

“Well it’s not over yet.” Hunk retreated to the kitchen and returned with bowls of snacks - including Lance’s much beloved kale chips. “Now that we got the cake and presents part over, we can get down to the real business of party games.” 

“Oh! I got booze!” Lance jumped up to get drinks and cups. “Wanna play never have I ever?” Lance asked from the kitchen. 

“I’m down,” said Hunk as Pidge yelled, “Fuck yeah!” 

Keith folded himself down to the floor, hugging one knee to his chest. “What is never have I ever?” 

Lance thew the cups at Hunk and sat down next to Keith with a couple of bottles and a six pack. "You say 'never have I ever' then something that you did or didn't do. Everyone who's done it drinks, including yourself, if your statement was a lie." Lance poured a shot for himself. "For example, never have I ever kissed a ghost." Lance threw back his shot. 

Pidge and Hunk both scoffed while Keith looked skeptical for a variety of reasons. “I don’t think I can exactly get drunk anymore. And I haven’t done much. Why don’t I just watch?” 

"Nope, nuh-uh, this is your birthday and you gotta play your party games." Lance set a shot in front of Keith. "But, you can go last so you can see how it works." 

Trying not to be a buzzkill, Keith picked up his shot glass and sniffed. “What is this?” 

Hunk grinned. “Tutu’s moonshine. That she totally doesn’t make at home.” 

“Alright suckers,” Pidge said, pushing their glasses back on their nose. “We’ll start easy for the virgin. Never have I ever worn the same underwear two days in a row.” 

“Fuck.” Lance shotgunned his glass. Hunk shrugged, smiled and drank. 

Keith wrinkled his nose at Lance and left his drink untouched. “Ew.” 

“Never have I ever dropped my phone in the toilet.” Hunk smirked knowingly at Lance. 

Lance drank. “Okay this game isn't fun anymore.” 

“Couldn’t even bring ours to the toilet if we wanted to, so, technicality,” Keith laughed in sympathy. 

Pidge cringed and shot one back. 

“What when?!” 

“Last week,” they wiggled their phone which was almost identical to their old one. “I was trying to take a picture of a spider in the bathroom and it fell out while I was climbing on the counter.” 

So now it was Keith’s turn. He fiddled with his glass as he thought, trying not to pick anything morbid or ghost-related. “Uh.” Shit, what did people even do in high school? He’d never gone to college, so that was the only thing they all had in common. “Never have I ever...gone to prom?” 

Lance and Hunk high fived as they drank. Pidge sat back. “Losers.” 

“Why didn’t you go to prom? Don’t tell me you’re like Pidge and thought you were too good for it.” Lance leaned a little too close. Being tipsy always was the best part of getting drunk. He still had his wits about him, but he wasn't as worried about what people thought. So getting extra close to his boyfriend was nice and he wanted to do it, so he did. 

“I just didn’t want to, okay?” Keith said a little too defensively, but realized it soon enough to lean forward and place a little kiss on the tip of Lance’s swiftly-reddening nose. He was trying hard to push down the flashbacks to high school, to being face first in the dirt or against a locker or bleeding from another bloodied nose. This was a party, dammit, and Lance and the others had worked hard to make him happy. Hopefully Lance didn’t catch any of it through their bond. “Not all of us could be Mr. charm and popularity like you, I’m sure.” 

Lance went cross eyed, trying to look at the kiss. 

“You did  _ not _ just say that about Lance,” Pidge said, downing another. Presumably because they couldn’t handle the cute scene he and Keith were making. 

“Yeah, dude. Lance was a total nerd. We went to prom together because no one would go with us and he insisted we dress up like Beyoncé.” Hunk took out his phone and flipped through the gallery. “We spent months making red carpet costumes. Here.” He handed it over. “I’m the one in the giant fur coat and Lance is in the jumpsuit.” 

The snort and outright laugh that came from Keith was neither pretty nor dignified. “Oh my god, I never would have dated you.” 

“That’s uncalled for.” Lance stole the phone away and scoffed. “I look fantastic. Not that anyone appreciated it then  _ or now _ ,” he pointed the words at Hunk. 

“You almost got us banned for breaking dress code.” 

Lance tossed Hunk’s phone back to him. “I still say it was worth it. Though it is sad we didn’t get to go with an actual date…” Keith had never gone to prom; Lance had never gone to a dance with a date. Lance had an idea, like a puzzle piece snapping together. Not right now, though; he had to do it right. 

The game moved on as Lance’s brain planned. He shot Hunk a few secret texts during the night to work out the logistics, though that was getting harder to do as the night wore on and he became increasingly drunk. 

Lance was leaning heavily on Keith now, whispering into his ear every dirty thing his brain thought of without a filter. They still hadn’t had  _ sex _ sex _ . _ Sure he was holding Keith when he’d jerked himself off and Lance’s dick had decidedly been in Keith’s mouth, but Lance wanted to take and be taken. At first he’d planned to do it tonight, but after a conversation with Hunk about the  _ real  _ purpose of Keith’s mysterious birthday gift, he decided to wait. 

After all - what better way to pop the cherry of a ghost than on Halloween? 

At  _ prom _ . 

_ Lance,  _ Keith whined in his mind.  _ Stop. I can’t, um, cover my lap anymore than I am, and _ …The thought broke off as Lance ran his knuckles up Keith’s arm, and it might as well have been his dick the way Keith short-circuited. 

“I think the birthday boy is  _ real _ tired,” Lance said, proud that his sluggish tongue could form words. “I’m going to take him to bed.” 

“Gross,” Pidge said from their position on the floor, one hand clutched around a bottle. 

“I’ll get Pidge home.” Hunk got up and helped Pidge climb on his back. 

“I dun’ wanna go home. Let’s go play games.” 

Hunk took the bottle from their fingers and set it down on the floor, careful not to let Pidge slip off. “Sure, right after you take a nap.” 

“Already on it,” they mumbled into Hunk’s shirt, drool forming a little wet spot. Hunk closed the door with a click. 

Lance didn’t notice; he was already burying his fingers in Keith’s hair and kissing small bites up his neck. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Keith half moaned, half complained. “I didn’t even say thank you again...” 

“Horny drunk,” Lance mumbled into his neck. “I can stop if you want.” His fingers found the space between Keith’s shirt and pants and rubbed his fingers along the skin there. He loved touching things when he was drunk and Keith was fast becoming his favorite thing to touch. 

“I’ll say.” Keith leaned back on his hands and made a show of spreading his legs for Lance so he’d know the extent of what Keith had been trying to conceal. “Do I look like I’m not enjoying it?” 

A wild sound came out of Lance’s throat and he realized he wanted to strip Keith bare and fuck him until he died a second time from pleasure. It was hard to think through the fuzz, but he knew sober Lance would be very upset if he went too far. He shifted, trying to find friction. “You look delicious, birthday boy.” He took a moment to kiss Keith and enjoy his mouth. He tugged on his lower lip, sucking for a moment before diving in to taste Keith. Lance lost track of how long they kissed. He pulled back, licking his lips. “Yep, delicious.” 

“Yeah?” Keith hummed and followed Lance, crawling over him and dragging a knee up to settle firmly against the swell of his pants. “I think it’s time for the birthday boy to show his appreciation for how sweet you’ve been, don’t you?” 

Biting his lip, Lance moaned. He rutted against Keith’s leg and gasped, eyes going wide. Keith was getting way too good at manipulating their link. He’d put Lance’s pleasure on a loop, sending it back as soon as he received it. “Please.” His hands were addicted to Keith. He touched everything he could, over and under the clothes. It was almost too much for his half numb brain. 

“Aww, so polite,” Keith teased, snagging one of Lance’s roving hands and locking eyes with him. He kissed the palm of it before drawing the tip of each finger in one by one to give it a hot, teasing suck, making good and sure Lance could feel how much he loved it through their bond. 

Lance reached down to touch himself, but Keith caught it and pinned both hands above his head in one fist. Whimpering, Lance rubbed himself harder against Keith’s leg. The action was thwarted by Keith's other hand pressing down on his hip. Unable to move or find his own pleasure, Lance resorted to begging. “Keith, please I want you. I want your mouth. I need you.  _ Please _ ,” the words tumbled over his lips before his brain could form them and they came out slurred and needy. 

“And you can have it,” Keith cooed back soothingly, bending forward to lap at Lance’s open, panting mouth. “ _ If  _ you’re good, and you manage not to come before you get me off first. After all, it’s  _ my  _ birthday.” His voice was teasing, confident, but he sent a pulse along their link that was still a little hesitant, as if asking  _ is this okay with you?  _

“How do you want me?” Lance’s eyes flashed as he concentrated on how Keith would feel in his mouth or his hand. As he pushed through their link he followed it up with how much he’d been craving for Keith to be ready, how ready he was to have Keith melting for him. 

Emboldened by Lance’s enthusiasm, Keith swallowed and recentered his confident persona. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

“Begging, hopefully, but first take off your clothes.” 

Two people could play this game. Pushing Keith back, Lance sat up until he was straddling him, then rose to his knees. Button by button, he undid his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders, gravity bringing it fluttering to the ground. His undershirt was sheer and Lance rubbed his dark nipples through the silky fabric. He rolled the nubs with his fingers, letting out a breathy moan of, “ _ Keith.” _ Once they were swollen and hard, he dragged his hands down to the hem of his shirt, lifting it to show off his stomach. Swaying his hips to the beat of his heart, Lance teased the shirt up and down, mewling every time the fabric rippled across his sensitive nipples. 

Lance flicked up drunk and lust heavy eyes to make sure Keith was watching him. The heated stare that greeted him made Lance moan. He grabbed Keith’s hand and ran it over his stomach as Keith’s fingers caught against the fabric, lifting the shirt to his collarbone. Taking over, Lance tugged the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. Keith’s hands were still exploring his chest as he dropped his own hands down to his fly. Fumbling, he got it open. There was no way to get his pants down with his legs spread around Keith so he tugged them down far enough to free himself. 

Taking over Keith’s hands, he ran them down his chest, stomach, hips, and finally curled Keith’s fingers into the band of his underwear. Together they took mercy on his weeping cock, pushing the tight fabric down. 

The sweet relief didn't last long. Keith managed to break through the spell his little show had cast because Jesus  _ fuck  _ he hadn’t known it was even possible to be this hard and he refused to let it get the best of him. Lance’s underwear snapped back in place as he pulled his hands away. He took Lance by the wrists and bucked his hips, switching their positions to slam his boyfriend to the floor and pin him. 

“Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you,” he snarled into Lance’s ear, following it with his tongue. “What did I say were the rules, huh? What did I say?” And okay, maybe he was milking his abilities just a little, but what good were they if they couldn’t be fun; Keith’s hands heated where they pinned Lance’s wrists and his eyes had a hint of a red, feral glow as he growled, “Tell me what you’re supposed to be doing. Say it out loud.” 

Lance rolled his hips, brushing Keith with his own hardness and smirked at the sound it pulled from him. "Stripping for you." The heat flared and spread down his wrists into his arms, sweet in his veins. It made him want to push Keith, to see how far they could take this. 

“And you couldn’t even finish the job.” Keith tsk’d and curled his fingers under the band of Lance’s underwear and jeans, yanking them off as he crawled back. On his way to slithering back up Lance’s body, Keith paused to mouth a few vibrating, electric-wet kisses along Lance’s length and suck the head into his mouth like he was starving for it. 

Lance threw his head back, eyes fluttering. “Ah!” He bucked into Keith’s mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat. It sent a shiver up his spine as his stomach clenched. “I thought,” he sucked in a breath as Keith’s tongue dug into the tip, “you were going first.” 

Keith backed off with a wet slurp, not bothering to wipe his swollen, shiny lips. “No,” he clarified, “I just said you weren’t allowed to come before me. Didn’t say I wasn’t going to test you.” He dove back down, nosing at the brown hair at the base of Lance’s cock as he relaxed his throat entirely. The heat and musky scent of being that close to Lance had Keith moaning around his stuffed mouthful in a way he knew was Lance’s weakness. He could feel the vibration against his own dick from their link, and he sent that back along twofold so Lance would know how much he was loving this. 

Moans turned into choppy cries and Lance was half aware he was being too loud for his thin apartment walls. It was too much it was all too much, Keith’s mouth, Keith’s pleasure, Keith’s hands, Keith, Keith,  _ Keith.  _ “Stop,” he begged between low groans and high mewls. “I won't last.” He shook his head back and forth trying to control himself, but Keith was unrelenting. “Please. I’m close. I'm so close.” Lance couldn’t tell if he was asking for Keith to stop or bringing him to completion anymore. 

Deciding to have pity and be merciful, Keith let Lance slide from his mouth and gave him a moment to collect himself. While his mess of a panting boyfriend drank in air, Keith took the opportunity to finally -  _ finally -  _ strip his own clothes. He almost cried when his pants came off (because who needed boxers anymore when you’re dead; perks of coming back a second time) and some of the painful pressure was released from his dick. He had to actively clamp down on the surprise he felt at seeing how ridiculously hard he was, lest it transfer to Lance and make him smug. Instead, he sank down in front of Lance, leaning back on one elbow and letting his legs fall open. “If you’re just going to lay there, I guess I’ll take care of this myself again, huh?” He tried for a teasing purr, but it probably sounded more pathetic and desperate than anything. With one hand fisting around himself and his eyes daring Lance to make a move, Keith gave himself a few quick pumps and let his head fall back with a sharp gasp. 

It took all of Lance’s effort to get up instead of wrapping his own hands around himself. He crawled the short distance to Keith and stayed Keith’s hand. Lance bit into the thick flesh of Keith’s thumb, just enough to control it, and pulled it away. “I’m not letting you jack yourself off on your own birthday.” This was the first time Keith was letting Lance touch him and he was determined to make it amazing. 

“That was the idea,” Keith said brattily, but his eyes were heavy-hooded and dark with need. 

Lance nuzzled around the base of Keith’s cock, licking here and there to tease him as Keith began to toy with his hair. Splaying one hand over the flat of Keith’s stomach, he brought the other to cup his balls. He massaged them softly, now and then pressing his finger into the taint to hit the g-spot. He could tell every time he struck that bundle of nerves from the shiver that went down his own spine and straight into his leaking cock. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Keith yelped and jerked his hips up. “What the - what are you -“ he broke off into a thin, needy whine. 

Digging his nails into Keith’s stomach, Lance dragged them into dark, curly hairs and grabbed the base of Keith’s cock. At the same time, he sucked one ball into his mouth and massaged it with his tongue. Keith’s guttural, approving noise prompted Lance to work it a little harder. He stroked the shaft as he mouthed at the balls and pressed his thumb into Keith’s hidden g-spot. He made sure to show Keith through moans and their link how good it was. 

The actual sounds Keith was making were just a vocal mess of pleas and groans, but as Lance sent him imagery of himself, he sent back need, affection, amazement, and a feeling of being overwhelmed in the most amazing way. 

_ Talk to me,  _ Keith pleaded silently.  _ Wanna hear you wanna know you’re there.  _

Lance popped off, wiping the drool from his chin. “I’m here, love, and you’re doing so good for me. Look how hard you are.” His hand went up to the head as his head went down to the taint. Switching to mental speech he continued,  _ Look at this. Look how wrecked this makes you.  _ He pressed the flat of his tongue into it, licking and jabbing with the tip. Swiping his thumb over the sensitive ridge that separated the shaft from the head, he timed it with his licks. 

“I wish I could fit all of you into my mouth at once,” he said, switching back to speech so he could let his breath cool the spit. “I want you to come down my throat. I want all of you.” Lance locked eyes with Keith as he lowered his mouth back down, slipping him in centimeter by centimeter. Keith was wide and stretched his mouth out as Lance tried to take all of him. He licked and hummed his way to the base. Once Keith hit the back of his throat, he swallowed and pressed him passed the tight ring of muscles. 

“ _ Ahgod,”  _ Keith panted, hips absolutely shaking with the effort to stay still for fear of choking Lance. “ _ OhfuckohmygodLance-”  _

Lance continued to swallow, letting the muscles contract around Keith’s cock. His mouth was so full, but he wished Keith would fill him up in other places. He imagined Keith fucking him from behind as he sucked and sent all the fantasy through their link. 

That was evidently all it took to incinerate the last thread of Keith’s tenuous self-control. He whimpered and tugged at Lance’s hair urgently, trying to warn him. “Lance - stop, m’gonna - gonna -!” 

At the warning, Lance shoved Keith deeper and pressed his thumb into his g-spot, rubbing it in circles to coax Keith to climax.  _ Come for me, baby.  _

Keith’s entire body arched and went rigid, his scream strangled into silence by the constricting in his throat as he came, sending pulse after hot pulse down the back of his boyfriend’s eager throat. Their link blew wide open and everything he was experiencing mirrored straight back to Lance, along with raw, undiluted amazement and the sensation of seeing stars. 

Keith's orgasm ripped through Lance and tears caught in his lashes as he came untouched. His scream came out gurgled from Keith spilling down his throat. Lance did his best not to waste any of it. Though his own orgasm lay cooling in the carpet, it was the least of his worries. He used the last cognitive cells of his drunken brain to lick and suck every last drop from Keith as he came down from his high. 

Crashing down to the carpet in a boneless heap, Keith gazed at the ceiling like he’d never seen one before. Nothing in his sweaty, adolescent fantasies had prepared him for the reality of being touched, nearly worshiped, by someone else - especially someone who loved him so completely. He felt wrung out in the best way, and wondered if that sensation of weightlessness and being made out of pure light was what it felt like for living people too. 

“Lance,” he tried, nudging at the heap on his lap. “Lance, c’mere.” 

After one last lick, Lance lazily crawled across Keith and tucked himself into his chest. "Hm?" He blinked up, sleep already trying to claim him. 

Wrapping himself around Lance, Keith mumbled into his sweat-damp and messy hair, “We should get you in bed. Can’t sleep on the floor.” 

"Too late." He pretended to make snoring noises and buried his face deeper into Keith's armpit. 

“No it isn’t.” Keith huffed, trying to squirm out from under Lance, but even being as willowy as he was, he was still heavy. Which left Keith with only one trump card. “You’re going to make me sleep on your come-soaked carpet on my birthday? Not even in a real bed?” 

"Fine. Can't you just… teleport us there though?" 

Keith considered that. That was a good question. Could he? Only one way to find out. 

The loud thump and cursing noises as Keith re-opened his eyes, sitting up in Lance’s bed alone, told him no. No he could not. But that didn’t keep him from cackling about it over Lance’s indignant whining. 

\-- 

"You sure you want to do this?" Lance tied the small bow on his dress shoes. He wore all black, even his tie, and had slicked his hair back to tame it. "I know you're a lot more stable now that the thing is gone, but this is your grave we're talking about." 

Keith looked up at him from the couch and quirked a smile. A minute of silence passed and Lance glanced up from his shoe to see what was taking so long. Embarrassed at getting caught spacing out, Keith’s smile turned into a shy grin. 

“I like your hair like that,” he said. 

Lance stood and held out his hand. "Thanks. Come here." 

Keith, for his part, didn’t look any different - same black pants and long-sleeved shirt he’d had since coming back after the battle with the Consumant. It had been Lance’s idea to dress for the occasion, and while Keith didn’t think it necessary, he did appreciate the sentiment. He took Lance’s hand and smiled, pressing up on his toes to kiss the tip of his boyfriend’s freckled, upturned nose. “Yes, I’m sure. I just want to see it. I didn’t know if I even had one, you know? And then we can...forget. As best we can. Move on. Now, let me see you.” 

He stepped back and admired the sharp figure Lance cut in his suit, but beyond that, he admired just how healthy Lance looked. When they had fought together in the garage, Lance had been one step away from skeletal, the stress and darkness from demons within and without draining him into nothing. The weeks in between had seen him attending therapy, making active choices for his health, and the results were starting to really show. His cheeks were more rounded, his skin back to the warm, sunny glow Keith remembered from the first day Lance had walked through his front door. Despite the occasional setback, he was decidedly, obviously trying to put the past behind him. 

It was time for Keith to do the same. 

He needed to be done with the Keith who had suffered and died in Paxton Manor, and figure out who he was now that he was untethered to it and both the joy and tragedy he had experienced there. He was done being Keith Kogane, 1979-1998, last victim of the infamous Red House. He was ready to just be Keith, whoever that turned out to be. 

He smiled and raised an eyebrow at Lance, pulling him close by the lapels of his jacket. “I dunno, though, with you looking like that, I could be convinced to just stay here and...you know, help you right back out of it all.” 

“Tempting.” Lance closed the gap between them to give Keith a nice slow kiss. “But, both my abuelo and your past are waiting for us.” He hesitated, face turning serious as he looked into Keith’s eyes. “Did you want me to give you space when we get there?” 

Keith shook his head. “Absolutely not. The whole point is to not be alone anymore.” He cupped Lance’s cheek. “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine as long as you’re there.” He took Keith’s hand and brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “Ready, ghost boy? You’re about to haunt an actual graveyard. So spooky.” 

“Pff,” Keith scoffed. “Is it really haunting? Am I haunting all the time just by existing?” 

Lance shrugged. "You haunt my heart." 

“Oh,  _ ew _ .” Keith rolled his eyes and stepped back, making for the door. “I have all of eternity to try and forget that ever left your mouth.” 

"Don't worry,  _ boo _ , there's more where that came from." Lance stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and grabbed his keys. "I  _ scare _ about you so much." 

Keith put his hands over his ears as Lance locked up. 

"We make a  _ spook-tacular _ couple." 

“Lance, I swear to god…” 

\--

The cemetery wasn’t huge, because neither was the town. Keith had never considered that living in one place for most of your life theoretically made that place your hometown. For it to be home, you had to feel like you belonged, but since this was where he’d lived since he was a kid, it made sense to be buried there as well. 

It was surreal, walking past headstones and thinking that there were people under there, or what was once the vehicle for a person. Once you had been dead for a while and got used to being around other dead people, the concept of a graveyard was strange. They’d always seemed like places for the dead, but now he realized they were actually just for the living. 

He followed Lance down a grassy lane that separated one section of the graveyard from another, neat little rows so that people could find their loved ones more easily. It was peaceful and pretty, the fall leaves making everything burn in umber and scarlet and gold. Keith decided this was as good a place as any to have your body, but it was pretty nice to be able to go wherever Lance went. He would have been bored if he’d wound up stuck here, no matter how pretty it was.

When the path widened enough that they could walk side by side again, he slipped his hand into Lance’s. Lance tucked both their hands into his jacket pocket, probably because it was cold. Keith let a small trickle of heat run between them. Soon, they turned down a row shadowed by a huge oak tree. 

“Over there.” Lance pointed at a rounded stone that was newer than the others surrounding it. “That’s my abuelo.”

Keith approached it and knelt down, examining the dark black writing carved neatly into the granite. He traced it, smiling gently up at Lance. 

“Emiliano is a nice name. Introduce us?” 

“Now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure he’s here to hear, but…” Lance knelt down next to Keith, his pants absorbing the dew of the damp grass. “Hola abuelo, tengo a alguien que me gustaria que conocieras.” He turned to Keith, talking to him instead. “This is Keith, my dead, gay, boyfriend. I wish you could’ve met him; you guys have the same sense of humor. I think you would’ve gotten along. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m glad I don’t have to be teased by both of you at once.”

Keith ducked his head respectfully. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir. Your grandson is a real piece of work, alright, but I bet you knew that.” He shot Lance a glance. “Considering those were the only adjectives you could come up with to describe me.” 

“Thought I’d get the biggest surprises over with. Good thing he can’t die again with that kind of news.” Lance swept a lock of Keith’s hair behind his ear. “Keith is also fiercely loyal to his friends, a badass fighter, a great lover, and I’m never going to let him go now that he’s back.”

That brought a warm, happy flush to Keith’s cheeks, the kind he still wasn’t sure what to make of, but the longer he was in this new version of his body, the more he could appreciate how much it mimicked the reality of being alive. He was grateful for it, too, given the way Lance caught his sappy smile and grinned. 

“I wish I could meet the rest of your family,” Keith said, before he could stop himself. 

“Why not? I’m not going to hide you.” Lance pulled Keith in for a soft, chaste kiss. Resting their foreheads together, he held Keith’s gaze. “You never have to hide again. Not your sexuality or your feelings or our relationship. The dead thing might not go over very smoothly, but we’ll figure that out when we get there.”

“Think so?” Keith laughed. “I can’t wait to hear what you come up with to…to…” His eyes went wide and whatever color was in his face, illusory or not, drained. In an instant, he was gone. 

"Um, Keith? Where did you go? I'm sure my family isn't -" 

No, not gone - just invisible. Lance could feel Keith’s hand reach for his with a grip so hard it ached. 

“ _ Lance _ !” Keith’s voice, now a little echoey and less centralized, whispered urgently. 

"You're scaring me." Lance gripped back as if that would hold Keith to this plane. 

“ _ Look!” _

To the left and a little ways down the hill, a tall man in a black winter coat was standing in front of a headstone, tugging a scarf away from his mouth. He was holding a large bouquet of red roses scattered with a few white carnations - much like how the shock of white hair falling in his eyes contrasted with the natural black. 

“Oh my god - is that…?”

“Shiro,” Keith finished for him. There were so many emotions rippling across their link, Lance couldn't hope to make sense of them. Surprise. Longing. Anxiety. Fear. Awe.

Love. 

"Shit. Okay." Lance lifted his wrist to kiss Keith's invisible hand. "We can stay here and watch him if you want, or-" He rubbed Keith's steel-like grip to get it to loosen. "You could introduce me to your family." 

“I don’t know - I don’t know what to do!” Keith hissed. “Won’t it...really mess him up? To see me now? He’s probably done all kinds of therapy and…” The grip on Lance’s hand tightened again. “...Will you say hi? Just so I can hear his voice?” 

"Uh, I'm not really sure what to say. 'Hi, I'm Lance, you don't know me but I'm dating the ghost of your brother.' I'm not sure if I'm a better option," Lance said, but stood up. If Keith wanted to hear Shiro's voice, then Lance was going to get Shrio to talk. 

“Just - Just tell him you’re doing a project and you felt connected to me and wanted to, like, visit, you’d do something like that, please Lance,  _ please _ -"

Nodding, Lance made his way to where Shiro stood, careful to stay on the path. There was something about stepping on actual graves that seemed like bad luck. 

He was fine until he got closer and could see the grief on Shiro's face. It seemed so rude to interrupt the moment with a lie about a class project. Well, not a lie really. If he dumbed down the past months that's exactly what had happened. He'd become overly connected to his project. 

Well then, at least he wasn't lying. 

Lance stopped a few paces from Shiro and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Is this Keith Kogane's headstone?" God, who even opened a conversation like that. Lance wanted to hit himself, but he could feel Keith's anticipation and that spurred his confidence. 

Shiro looked up in surprise before his expression became guarded. “It is. Why do you ask?” His tone was neutral and friendly, but he was definitely wary. 

Keith’s rush of emotions through him made it hard to concentrate. He didn’t want to have a conversation with Shiro right now, he wanted to turn around to the ghost clinging to his back and hold him until he calmed down. “I’m doing a project for school about the- the Red House. A documentary and um, Keith, yeah, he, I…” Lance squeezed his eyes shut.

_ I can’t talk like this. _

Keith’s reply was nonverbal - just anxiety and urgency. Gratitude, but a definite sense of  _ get on with it please _ . 

Shiro’s voice went instantly chilly. “I see. I thought maybe everyone had gotten over their morbid curiosity by now, but I guess it’s too good of a story to let die, hm?” 

Not a great start. Lance took a deep breath, trying to push Keith’s feelings to the side so he could think, and started over. “It’s just that, I have a big brother and I found out that Keith had one, too. I thought about what it would be like to lose my brother…” He let that thought hang between them for a moment. 

Shiro still seemed wary of him, so Lance went with the truth, “I wanted to visit to tell him that I was really sorry for making his life and his death into a spectacle. I’ve decided not to do the documentary anymore.”

“Hmm.” Shiro stepped back to get a better look at him. “That...would make you one of the first I guess. It’s appreciated.” He shifted the roses to one hand and held his other out. “Shiro.” 

“Lance.” It took him a moment to switch gears when he realized Shiro was holding out his left hand. Lance shook it and hoped his palms weren't sweaty. Oh right, he doesn’t know Shiro, he shouldn’t act like this was all obvious. “You were, close to him?”

Shiro looked back down at the stone, wearing the tight, wistful smile of someone experiencing the twinge of old pain. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled with it. “Keith was...he meant everything to me. I’m his brother.” 

The emotions that statement unleashed hit Lance like an anvil. Clearly Keith was wrestling with the need to run forward, to hold his big brother, to show him that he was there and present and still cared so very much, but was convinced that holding himself back was best for Shiro. That tenuous decision, however, was starting to snap. 

Lance closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his emotions separate. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Keith would be really happy to hear how much he meant to you, I’m sure.” This was impossible. Keith's emotions made him want to cry and hug Shiro himself. It was all he could do to keep his hands by his sides.

Shiro looked askance at him with an expression that said he thought Lance was being more than a little strange. “Thank you.” 

Lance wanted to give Keith a present before Shiro left. Give him something other than this brief meeting with his brother. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but if there was something you could tell Keith if Keith were here, what would you tell him?” 

Now Shiro was facing him fully, eyebrows drawn sternly down in a way that looked so much like Keith it was uncanny. “Did you stalk me here just to get a few quotes for your school paper, Lance?” 

"What? No. Paper? I'm a comms major. Well actually I guess journalism falls under communications, but I'm media. Okay, so journalism is a  _ type _ of media. That's not the point. I'm video-"

_ Lance!  _ Keith hissed in his mind.  _ Not. Helping!  _

"I don't want a quote. I'm sorry. I just." He looked back at Keith who he couldn't see. "I'm sorry," he told Keith.  _ Your boyfriend is an idiot.  _

Keith followed that up by pushing down the raging typhoon of emotions he was feeling in order to send Lance a pulse of fondness and gratitude. 

“I would tell him that.” 

Lance turned back to Shiro. He'd expected to be ceremoniously asked to leave, not get an answer. 

Shiro crouched down to place the flowers on the nest of orange and red leaves carpeting the grass in front of Keith’s headstone. He wasn’t looking at Lance - not even really speaking to him anymore. “I would tell him that I’m sorry. Sorry that I never noticed. Never asked. Never pressed. That I thought by giving him space, I was allowing him to deal with things in his own time. That it took my father getting remarried  _ again,  _ to a woman with kids younger than Keith, before I caught him. Wised up. Got him locked away for good. Sorry that I didn’t keep him safe. Sorry for failing. It was my job to protect him, and I never managed to do that. Not once.” 

“...That’s not true.”

The words hadn’t come from Lance.

Keith had stepped from behind Lance, eyes wide and wet, holding onto Lance for dear life as he stared his brother down. “Shiro, that’s - that’s not true at all. None of it was your fault.”

"Keith!" Lance hissed. "I can  _ see _ you."

Shiro’s head had snapped up the minute Keith had spoken, reacting to his voice with an alacrity managed only by those in mourning - the kind of desperation that comes from spending every day wishing to hear that sound just one more time. He wasn’t breathing. He just...froze. 

Then he turned to Lance, looking near murderous. “What kind of sick joke are you trying to pull here? Huh? You think this is _ funny _ ? Find one of your friends to dress up, pretend to be someone’s dead brother? Stalk them in the graveyard for fun? Where are the cameras then, media major?”

"There's not!" Lance pulled Keith closer, half to shield himself and half to protect Keith. "Do something. Your brother is going to kill me." 

"No but I might call the police and get you locked up," Shiro's voice was as cold as the headstones around him. 

“Shiro!” Keith stepped in front of Lance, dropping his boyfriend’s wrist in favor of holding up both of his palms. Shiro refused to look anywhere except Lance. “Stop! Don’t yell at him, it’s me!”

“Like hell it is!” Shiro roared back. “My little brother is  _ dead,  _ and no one in this sick fucking town can just let that  _ be _ !”

Keith was getting distressed. It was rising up in him, a deep upswell of battery acid and pain. 

Lance put a hand on the small of Keith's back and tried to soothe him through their connection, but he was shaking with adrenaline himself. Being yelled at by a man as big as Shiro was beyond scary. It rivaled chainsaw mouth. They were both children being scolded under that heavy gaze. 

“No - listen. When I was a kid, I hid all those sandwich crusts in your workout room, and we got that mouse infestation, remember? The one time I beat you at eating pizza at Antonio’s, I wanted to watch  _ Terminator,  _ like I’d been begging to, and mom kept saying I was too young, but you convinced her to say yes because you never thought I’d eat that much, but I was so excited, I did it, but we didn’t get ten minutes in because -”

“...You threw it all up and were too sick to finish,” Shiro whispered, as if he were in a trance. 

“Yes! That’s right. And...and you’ve got a scar on your right thigh from where you cut it open trying to learn how to  _ whittle  _ like the loser you are and...and your room. Had all those posters - the planes you loved, the - the - McDonalds-something F-15 Eagle, you wanted to fly one  _ so bad _ -” 

Shiro was still just staring. “What...what is going on?” He finally managed, toneless and quiet. 

Lance tugged them both to sitting. They faced Shiro and Lance took Keith’s hand in his. "It's true that I was doing a documentary about the Red House. That's where I found Keith. He's...definitely dead and wasn’t very nice when I first met him. He warmed up to me, eventually. But - trust me, it's a long story." Lance held up their hands. "Show him."

“Uh.” Keith wasn’t processing very well at the moment. He looked at Lance, uncomprehending, but made his hand go invisible. “Like this?”

Shiro balked, but still seemed unconvinced, and largely very numb to the whole situation. 

“Okay...one more thing.” Keith scooted a little closer to Shiro and re-manifested his hand, holding them both palm-out. “Come on. We haven’t done this since I was, like, ten - but. From outer space, from place to place…”

There was a sharp, painful inhale, and then Shiro’s lips began to tremble. His whole body, in fact, began to shake. Slowly, so slowly, he brought his palms up and placed them over Keith’s. Shiro moved with him as Keith drew their hands back and used them to squish his own cheeks.

“...I love your stupid, ugly face,” Shiro whispered. Then, brokenly, “Oh my god. Oh my god.  _ Keith _ .” 

Keith’s face split into a wide grin, but it was absolutely drenched with tears - big, fat ones, rolling unchecked down his face, sparking in the autumn sunlight. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

And that was it for a while. The two of them fell into each other’s arms and just cried until the shadows cast by the headstones had shifted and grown significantly longer. 

When they were finally worn out enough to continue an actual conversation, Shiro looked between Keith and Lance who had moved back to give them space. His voice was thick and disbelieving, “How is this possible?”

“Less important.” Keith reached back for Lance and pulled on him, forcing him to scooch forward in the leaves. “Most important: Shiro, this is Lance Fuentes. Lance, this is my brother Shiro. Shiro, this is my soulmate. Like - literally, my actual, honest to god soulmate.” 

Lance stared open mouthed at Keith. It wasn’t a lie, but neither of them had said it out loud or really put a name to what was going on between them. He clicked his mouth shut at the flood of happiness coming from Keith. He ducked his head at Shiro. “Nice to meet you, for real this time.”

“Uh.” Shiro said, and it was getting easier and easier for Lance to see the resemblance between the two brothers in their mannerisms, facial expressions, and speech patterns. It was no stretch to think Keith probably actively copied Shiro when he was a kid and learned it all from him. “Yeah, uh - you too.”

“Also, your brother saved my life.” Lance grew serious and waited ‘til Shiro faced him completely. “Keith saved me and my friends more than once. He’s gone through so much, but he still put himself on the line punching demons in the face. You don’t need to protect him; he’s protecting others now.”

“Demons?” Shiro looked like he was getting a headache from trying to run all of this through his mind. 

Beside him, Lance gave a little shiver, and Keith dimly registered that it probably was too cold to be sitting on the ground in late October as the sun was beginning to set. For alive people, anyway. He stood and offered Lance his hand, pulling him up. “Why don’t we go somewhere to talk? Like Lance said...it’s a  _ long  _ story.” 

\--

They wound up in a coffee shop a few blocks away. The initial shock had never worn off for Shiro, and Keith imagined that would take a while. It certainly would if their positions were reversed. The important thing was that they actually  _ had  _ “a while” now. 

Turned out, Shiro lived about three hours south, stationed at a Fort along the beach. He had a husband, but no kids - hadn’t really felt inclined to, after he learned the truth about his father. Ryou, for his history of domestic abuse, was serving a life sentence in prison. Lance and Keith had mentally decided not to let Shiro know that abuse was not, in fact, the worst of his stepfather’s crimes. Shiro had been through enough, and so long as the bastard was locked away, it didn’t change much at all. Keith was still dead, and Shiro didn’t need more bad news. 

Keith had needed a moment to process the reality that Shiro - perfect, stainless Shiro, whom Ryou had used as the golden standard - was also gay. Had known when Keith was still alive, even, and that had led Keith into a spiral of self-loathing about his own cowardice, wondering how things might have been different if he’d just had the courage to speak up for himself. Lance was the one to silently intervene and remind Keith that here, right now, with his brother in front of him, was not the time to dwell on regrets. 

So Keith had let it go when Shiro asked about the two of them, and how they had come to fall in love.  _ That  _ was a subject Keith was more than happy to discuss, and he had fun sneaking in as many reasons to tease Lance through the retelling as possible. Lance, the bastard, could always give as good as he got, however, and Shiro was nearly in tears by the time Lance was done telling him the journey one particular bottle of Warm Vanilla Sugar lotion had gone through. 

All in all, it took them nearly four hours to recount the whole thing. Some of it was spent with Shiro and Keith just quietly looking at each other, twenty years apart but also as if not a second had passed. 

“I just...really can’t believe this,” Shiro eventually said into his second cup of coffee. “Keith, your mom would have been so proud of you.” 

That made Keith’s face twist into a series of different emotions even he couldn’t name. “I know she died - but what happened?” 

Evidently Shiro was either too tired or too overwhelmed to walk through the specifics of  _ how  _ Keith knew that. “The building she and her unit were stationed in was hit during an air raid. She went back in alone to make sure all the staff got out. They did, but she - the structure collapsed. I’m sorry, Keith.” 

It hurt - of course it hurt - but being dead had given him a sort of philosophical outlook on things that made the blow easier. Hattie had more or less assured him he would see his mom again at some point. And the dad he’d never known. “If it helps, I know she’s okay and happy. She’s with my dad.” 

“Yeah...it does.” Shiro’s face darkened. “Better than with mine. Things got... _ bad _ . After you died, Keith. Krolia practically begged to go on every deployment mission possible. They divorced and I don’t think she was even mentally present for it. My father remarried within months. I’m the one who - this time I paid attention, and I caught him…” Shiro’s face, all the handsome age lines of it, pinched as his eyes grew wet once more. “Keith, I’m so sorry. I knew he wasn’t the most loving or stable, but I had no idea…” 

Keith reached between them and gripped Shiro’s hand. “I never told you. That’s on me, too.”

“But if I had just opened my eyes a little and actually  _ looked,  _ maybe you wouldn’t have -“ His voice broke off on a choke and his hand flew up to cover his mouth. 

Glancing at Lance, Keith sought his thigh under the table to give it a grounding squeeze.  _ Do you think I should tell him?  _

Lance really thought about that, studying Shiro. Today was already a lot for a man who was just visiting his brother's grave in remembrance.  _ He's blaming himself for your suicide, the only thing it would change would be what he blames himself for. I'm not sure murder is any better. In the end though, it's up to you. It was your death and you're the one in charge now. If you do want to tell him, do it for yourself, not Shiro.  _

The smile Keith gave him made it very clear that he thought Lance basically moved the Earth and stars.  _ Thanks _ . 

"Always." Lance kissed Keith's cheek and interlaced their hands. 

With a last affectionate squeeze, Keith stood and crossed over to Shiro, folding him into another tight hug. Shiro, a military man with salt and pepper hair, shirt and slacks meticulously pressed, sobbed brokenly into his baby brother’s stomach. Keith murmured reassurances, looking at Lance over the top of Shiro’s head.  _ I hate this _ , he sighed.  _ I knew he would feel this way. I’ve never seen him cry. I don’t know what to do - I’m no good at this, Lance, not like you.  _

_ Just tell him what you'd want to hear. You have the rest of his life to make up for lost time. I'll be outside.  _ Lance tapped his head.  _ I'll be here though.  _ He left the two brothers alone as he waited in the cold October night. It didn't take as long as he thought it would to calm down Shiro. 

They stepped out to meet Lance, Shiro with red rimmed eyes and Keith with the buzzing static of his firefly tears floating around him. 

Shiro gave Keith a smile and a little nod. “We’ll see each other again. Very soon, I promise. You won’t be able to get rid of me now.” He held a hand out to Lance. “And I’ll have to get to know the person my pissed-off porcupine of a little brother is whipped enough to call ‘soulmate.’”

"He's not whipped; we really are." Lance rolled his eyes as he took Shiro's hand. "Let's not be misogynistic." He stepped back next to Keith. 

“Duly noted.” Chuckling, Shiro let him go. “See you both again.” He ruffled Keith’s hair. “Love you.”

“Gross,” Keith said with a smile. They both watched as Shiro waved and hunched his shoulders, making his way through the cold to his car. 

"Home?" Lance held out his hand. 

Keith turned back to Lance, smiling like he couldn’t be happier. He grabbed Lance’s hand and locked their fingers together. “Home,” he agreed, and for the first time in his life or afterlife, Keith knew what the word actually meant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mintusti ✨ Our fantastic Beta!!
> 
> Autumn: I can’t write here. I’ll feel things. I’m already feeling things. Don’t look at me. 
> 
> Sail:
> 
> Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? 
> 
> Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. 
> 
> -Walt Whitman 
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: That’s it, folks. We really appreciate all the support this fic has gotten. The story means a lot to both of us and to see people enjoying it is really amazing. Hopefully we’ll see you all at the next one!
> 
> Sail: *cries*
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

Lance whined and threw his bow tie on the floor. "Hunk!" 

Hunk peeked in, already dressed and ready to go. "What happened this time?" 

"Ties are the devil and I need you to invent a time machine to travel back and kill the inventor." 

"Or, and hear me out, I can tie your bowtie for you." Hunk picked up the offending object and motioned for Lance to step closer. 

"I guess that works." Lance tugged at his cuffs. Hunk held him down by the shoulders and Lance realized he was bouncing. Patiently, Hunk slipped the band of the bow tie around Lance’s neck and started to tie it in the small window of time he had before Lance went back into motion. 

“Chill, dude. Why are you so nervous? It’s not like you don’t know each other. You’re like cosmic soulmates who fought a literal demon on another plane of existence, I think you can slow dance with him.” 

"This is different. It's his first prom and I gotta make it good." 

Hunk turned him around to face the mirror. "You look great. Keith will have so much fun, don't stress." 

Lance had picked the suit after a whole day of shopping with Hunk. He wanted it to be  _ perfect. _ It was hopeless of him, but he wanted a suit that made him look like a prince. They’d found it at the last shop right before it closed. 

A midnight blue jacket with twin tails fell over fitted white pants and a button up white shirt. He even had a matching white vest with blue detailing. It showed off his long legs and gave the appearance of a fairytale knight. Bronze glitter highlighted his cheekbones and kohl outlined his eyes, making the blue of them pop. Keith might not have dated High School-him but he hoped that now-him had a better chance. 

"You know telling me not to stress doesn't help." Lance looked around frantically. "His boutonniere!" 

“Is here,” Pidge finished, bringing Lance two clear boxes. They opened one and took the red rose surrounded by fresh baby’s breath out gingerly, pinning it to Lance’s lapel so he wouldn’t try to do it himself and stab his finger or anything. “And look, his is blue, because you two are nauseating.” 

“Where is Keith now?” Hunk asked, giving Lance another once over. 

“In the car, keeping his blindfold on like a good sport. He also promised he would actually, like, turn off his eyes or whatever so the blindfold wouldn’t be just for show. Should I bring him in?” 

"Creepy." Hunk shivered and went back to brushing lint off Lance. 

"Can't we keep him blindfolded forever? I'm not ready." 

Pidge pulled out another clear box with a yellow rose. "If you're like this for a fake prom then I'm not coming to your wedding." They handed the box to Hunk. "I already put mine on." 

"Wedding?! No one's getting married!" Lance squeaked, face turning red all the way to his hair. 

Hunk ignored Lance in favor of giving Pidge some considerable, weaponized puppy-dog eyes. 

Rolling their eyes, Pidge obligingly pulled the pin from their green-dyed rose boutonniere and handed it over to Hunk just so he could put it right back. 

Lance’s friends hadn’t let him down in any aspect of this, having both agreed to go all-out and attend the dance together as well. Pidge had managed to tame their hair back into a small bun and had gone for an uncharacteristically sleek black formal jumpsuit accentuated, because it was Pidge, by an emerald green and gold-braided military jacket. The boots, which they’d proudly shown off, gave them an extra two inches in height. Hunk had also slicked his hair a bit, and wore a light grey suit with a black vest patterned with gold plumerias. Pidge enjoyed looking him in the eyes immensely, and took great pride in being able to reach his lapel without issue to pin his yellow rose for him. 

“Aww, my best friends all grown up and coming to fake prom with me.” Lance hung around their necks. “Bring it in and then we’ll bring Keith in.” 

After a group hug that was mostly Hunk, Lance took a deep breath. “Okay, guys. Wish me luck.” 

“He’s your boyfriend, doofus,” Pidge rolled their eyes as they opened the door for Hunk. 

“He doesn’t really have a choice. My finger sandwiches can’t go to waste.” 

Lance shot them finger guns and they shut the door. 

He waited for Pidge’s signal that Keith was in position before going downstairs, avoiding the second step for good luck. If it worked once, it could work again. He pulled up short at the doorway. 

_ Oh wow.  _

Keith stood in the living room - or what used to be a living room before it became a microcosm of prom - blindfold still in place. His hair was in a half-ponytail, showing off his ears dotted with silver cuffs that dripped with chains, connecting to the clip-ons at his earlobes, and his white throat was accented by a black velvet choker sitting comfortably under his adam’s apple. Pidge had apparently pulled the gender-fluid-new-millenium card, because he was definitely wearing a sheen of reddish lip gloss. His dress shirt was black, but the suit jacket he wore was fitted, dark scarlet red, had black lapels and pockets and ended at his waist. He must have asserted some of his own style, because his pants were buttery black leather tucked into black boots with multiple buckles. Clearly nervous, his hands were clenching and unclenching from fists around black fingerless gloves. 

Heart pushing him forward with every beat, he walked up to Keith and slowly untied the blind fold. His fingers shook as it finally pulled free and Keith blinked into the softly lit room. “Hey. You look breathtaking.” 

“H-” Keith started to respond before he caught sight of the room. His lips parted and hung open as he spun around slowly and took everything in. 

Pidge and Hunk had genuinely outdone themselves. The main living room of the Red House was unrecognizable. There were dark blue tablecloths hung on every wall and up the ceiling like streamers, meeting in the middle with a slowly turning disco ball. There were also generous strands of icicle lights adding to the starry, prom-like ambiance. The hum of several generators was being drowned out with music Keith didn’t recognize. There were even tables with punch bowls. Keith looked up at Lance and worked his mouth like he was trying to say something, but nothing came out. 

“Keith Kogane, will you be my date to prom tonight?” Lance held up the blue rose that matched his own, baby’s breath and all. 

“You…” Keith whispered as he accepted the rose, eyes suspiciously sparkly and over-bright. “Are the biggest dweeb of all time.” His smile broke and spread like the dawn, and he looked every inch the lovesick idiot he had become. “This is incredible, Lance. Thank you.” 

“It was worth it to see that face.” Lance held out his hand for Keith’s boutonniere and carefully pinned it in place without pricking anyone. “There. You’re officially my date.” He stepped to the side and offered his arm. “Shall we?” 

Keith looped his arm through Lance’s and nodded, biting his lower lip through his smile. “You’ve been planning this since my birthday, haven’t you? Why on Halloween? This is prime break-in time at this house for teenage shitheads.” 

Lance paused, jerking Keith to a halt alongside him. “I didn’t even think about that.” He started walking again. Sliding his arm out, he spun Keith to face him. Lance shifted them close as the song changed. “Guess if anyone comes in you’ll have to pull a  _ Casper _ and scare them away.” 

Happily resting his head on Lance’s shoulder, Keith pressed a secret kiss to his neck. “By the way...you look…” He couldn’t really find the right word, so he opened their link; It was the sensation of walking in a dream, of everything he ever wanted being real, of indescribable beauty. “Really, really amazing.” 

The room got ten degrees hotter. “Not as good as you. Those pants should be illegal.” Lance’s mind reeled. Every time Keith showed him what he looked like through his eyes, Lance wanted to simultaneously dig a hole to hide in and show off to everyone. He settled for lifting Keith’s chin to steal a kiss. 

Pidge wolf-whistled, laughing. “Are we allowed to join you two losers yet? Make it a real party?” 

Keith’s face lit up brighter when he saw the other two. “You clean up halfway decent, Pidge, for being such a nerd.” 

“Yeah well, clearly I know my way around this kind of stuff if Lance’s gross face when he saw  _ you  _ was any indication.” Pidge held up their arms, waiting for Hunk, who slid in like the gentleman he was. “And don’t worry about kids crashing the party. I took care of that.” 

Lance scoffed. “My face is not gross.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Keith glanced around worriedly. “What does that mean, exactly?” 

Pidge’s innocent smile was frightening, even for Halloween. “Nothing to worry about, that’s all I’m sayin’.” 

“I okayed it all first,” Hunk offered. “If that’s any sort of comfort.” 

Keith nodded. “Yes. And thank you both. This is awesome.” 

Shrugging, Pidge gave him a mischievous pirate smile. “You can thank me by saving a dance. I want to say I’ve danced with the dead on Halloween.” 

“Only after I get mine.” Lance pulled Keith protectively close. Lights spun around them in time to the music. He whistled. It must’ve taken some engineering to hang it and program it to their playlist. “The disco ball so cool.” 

“I can’t believe how much I agree,” Keith said, also staring at it. “Who knew.” 

“Just leave it here for the others when we go,” Hunk suggested. “Give them something to do.” 

As Pidge and Hunk started debating the likelihood of paranormal masquerade balls, Keith tugged on Lance’s hand, smiling into his stardusted blue eyes. “Alright then, Fuentes. Thought you wanted a dance?” 

With a smirk, Lance stepped back and bowed, holding out his hand. “It would be an honor.” He winked. 

Keith felt the warm electric flush spread through his entire body, and he wondered, not for the first time, how he had ever gotten here - the same house he’d lived and died in, going to prom with the most beautiful boy to ever exist. “God, you’re hot,” he blurted. 

Lance took his hand and tugged, catching Keith off guard. Keith stumbled forward and Lance caught him, steadying him by the hip. "You're way hotter." He spun them as he leaned in, brushing his lips across the shell of Keith's ear as he spoke, "I can show you just how hot you are tonight. If you'll let me." Lance sent his question nonverbally as well. He sent his need laced with Keith's handsome features, the way he wanted to worship those features one by one. 

In Lance’s arms, Keith sank and gripped his jacket to keep from falling entirely. He’d had knees a second ago, he was sure, but they were gone and now he was nothing but a mess of heat and want. “I-” He tried. Couldn’t speak the words just yet. Sent Lance an image - the sensation of being filled with everything Lance could give him while looking into his addictive eyes. Taking it and spilling over and then taking it again. “I’d like that. Very much.” 

Those words made Lance want to shout and sing. He wanted to drag Keith upstairs and give him all of that and so much more. He wanted to kiss him, never let him go. He wanted to  _ dance. _ Practically giggling, Lance spun them around the room. It wasn’t fancy; all he wanted to do was hold Keith and enjoy the high of waiting for tonight. He did try practicing a few twirls and when they got it down they went over to show Hunk and Pidge. 

“This is my boyfriend,” Lance said as if this revelation would be momentous to the current audience. 

Pidge rolled their eyes hard while Hunk chuckled. 

“If you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’re going to fall out.” Lance pulled Keith back to him. “We don’t need these haters.” 

Keith hummed and brought them into a slow sway, capturing Lance’s attention again. 

“Pretty sure he’s kinda more than that.” Pidge’s mumble was for Hunk’s ears only. 

He hummed in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lance this happy.” 

“Gross,” Pidge groused. “Gross Gross vomit Gross. I need punch to wash the Gross down.” But their lips were twitching at the corners. 

“On it.” 

Hunk made his way to their little folding table with the plastic punch bowl and Halloween confetti. As he was filling two solo cups, he glanced up at the entryway where a few people in various decades of period clothing were watching Lance and Keith. A man in a suit leaned down to whisper to a young woman bouncing an infant and they both laughed. The woman caught Hunk looking and she smiled at him, raising her free hand in greeting. Hunk smiled back and returned to the floor. 

Pidge accepted their cup with gusto and Hunk handed the other to Lance. 

“Thirsty, Romeo?” he teased. 

“Very.” He winked at Keith while he took the cup. 

Pidge shotgunned their whole cup. 

“Careful, Pigeon. Someone spiked it,” Lance chuckled as he sipped at his own punch. 

“Well you’re the reason I drink, Lance-a lot. You and your cavity-inducing boyfriend.” 

Keith held his hands up defensively. “Leave me out of this. I didn’t ask for this.” 

“How dare you abandon me; you should be sticking up for me!” Lance pouted and turned watery eyes on Hunk. “I’m dancing with you now, you’re the only one that loves me.” He pulled Hunk away to dance. Hunk looked back at them with a shrug. 

Keith was about to step aside when Pidge grabbed his wrist and yanked him in. Despite being shorter, Pidge was decidedly trying to lead. “Oh no you don’t. My turn, dead boy.” 

Snorting, Keith settled his hands on Pidge’s shoulders like they were both back in middle school. “You can’t lead if you’re a shrimp.” 

“You can only lead if you have a pulse, it’s in the rules.” For once, Pidge’s smile was softer - still teasing, but without the edge that usually turned it into a smirk. “Now show me what you’ve got. Payback for always draining the juice out of my equipment and shit.” 

With a chuckle, Keith hoisted Pidge up by the waist and spun around until Pidge was letting out shrieks of equal parts nausea and delight. 

The ghostly spectators began to fill in the dance floor, until all of the residents were there. Lance didn't notice until Hunk stepped into one and morphed into a slightly more corpse like appearance. 

"Woah, are you seeing this?" 

The four of them gathered close, watching the various strange dances of the dead. 

"Now it's a party!" Pidge turned up the music from their phone and they all grinned. In a circle they danced, switching partners or with themselves or with a brave spector that would join them. 

This went on for hours, until the playlist Pidge cultivated had repeated through the dusty, rotting house three times over. 

At some point, Keith found himself back in Lance’s arms, Lance’s sharp chin resting on Keith’s hair. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t go to prom,” Keith said, almost to himself. 

“Hmm?” 

He pulled back and smiled up at Lance, running a knuckle along his cheek. “Just love you.” 

Lance smiled as his world exploded and reformed brighter and more vibrant. Keith came into sharp focus as everything else melted away.  _ Wait.  _ He slapped a hand over Keith's mouth. "Hold that thought and give me a second." 

"Night Hunk, night Pidge," Lance called and pulled Keith upstairs. He didn't check if they heard. 

Once he had Keith in his old room, he shut the door and sighed. The bass rattled the floorboards as the muffled music tried to push through the floor. "I've been planning this since you came back to me." Lance swallowed. "Keith." He stepped closer and brought Keith's hands to his chest, pressing them against his heart. "I know this seems crazy, well, it's probably not that crazy with what we've been through, but--" That wasn't the point; Lance shook his head to sort his thoughts. "Words can't explain what I feel and I could show you, but you deserve a real, proper, old fashioned confession when we’re not in some crazy life-or-death situation. I'm not sure what will happen in the future, all I know is that knowing you makes me want to be a better person and I like me more when I'm with you." Lance tipped Keith's chin up and blinked down into his eyes. "What I'm trying to say, Keith Kogane, is that I love you. I love you over generations, over death, over time, and over the stars that split us apart." 

Even if Keith hadn’t been terrible with words, there was nothing he could say to meet or top that, no way to encapsulate the supernova happening inside him, the disbelief that after all he had been through, everything had been so, so worth it, because it had brought him to this moment, right now, with Lance. Even thinking his name felt earth-shattering, and the best he could do was open up his heart along their link and give it all right back to the boy who’d shown him how to live. 

Keith stepped forward, reaching up to cup Lance’s face, pushing up on his toes to hover his lips on the precipice of a kiss. 

“Show me,” he whispered, before closing the distance. 

Keith tasted like cherry flavored lip gloss. Lance encircled Keith in his arms and returned the kiss with every ounce of passion he had. This time Keith was going to be fully his and all of him would be Keith's. 

They broke apart, panting into each other's mouths, Keith more out of memory than need for air. "I love you, here." Lance kissed his cheek. "And here." He moved down to his neck. As he littered kisses over Keith, he led them to the bed. Guiding Keith down, he continued kissing, murmuring love into his pale skin. 

Keith arched up, exposing his neck and running his hands through Lance’s hair. “I love you in that outfit,” Keith added to the list. “I want you out of it immediately, but I’ll be sad to see it go.” He lowered his lashes and gave Lance a fond smile. “You look like a prince.” 

Lance blushed though it was hard to tell with how flushed he’d become kissing Keith. “You look like the thief that stole my heart.” He tugged on the tie holding up Keith’s hair and freed the silky strands to sprawl across the pillow. “So, stealing my clothes shouldn’t be too hard.” 

“A thief, hm?” Keith smirked and reached up, sliding his hands along Lance’s chest and then under his coat. He pushed it back, urging Lance to take it off. “Am I really the one about to take something?” 

Lance let his coat fall and flicked it to the ground. He bent, taking Keith's mouth for a long, lingering kiss. While Keith was distracted, Lance unbuttoned his shirt and slipped his hands inside. He pulled away with a smack. "I'm not taking, you're giving willingly, aren't you?" Lance asked, pinching Keith's nipples. 

“Ah!” said Keith by way of answer as he pushed his chest up, seeking more, but given what he’d learned about Lance - sweet, sensitive, thoughtful Lance - he realized something more explicit might be in order. Catching one of Lance’s hand in his, Keith brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles, blushing even before the words came out. “With all my heart.” Then, because that all just felt too sappy, he bucked his hips up. “Now get on with it already.” 

"With pleasure." Could ghosts get hickies? Lance hadn’t tried, but he was willing to put in the work to find out. Pulling Keith's shirt off so that it stuck on his wrists behind his back, Lance started his experiment. Lapping at one nipple, he twisted the other with his finger, twisting and pushing and pulling and rubbing until it grew hard. His tongue mirrored his fingers on the opposite nipple. Once Keith was thoroughly moaning under him, Lance moved to suck on the spot directly above. He tried placing one on his neck, under his ear, at the hollow of his throat, hands never ceasing. 

His experimentation rewarded him with new knowledge on two fronts: first, that ghosts - or at least ghost Keith - could in fact get hickies. Sort of, anyway. There were little blue smudges on his skin, or whatever it really was, that didn’t fade away when he let up. Second, Keith apparently had extremely sensitive nipples. By the time Lance pulled back to admire his work, Keith was a mess. His hair was a wild halo around his face on the pillow, his eyes were glazed, and his chest heaved with the memory of breath. 

It was interrupted as Keith winced, sitting up a little and reaching behind himself to grab at something. He pulled the pendant Hunk had given him for his birthday back to rest on his chest from where it had gotten tangled, digging into his back. “Ow. I forgot about this thing.”

Lance recognised the strange necklace right away. "What is it supposed to do?" 

“Not sure.” Keith looked at it, turning it in the light. “Hunk just said to wear it on Hallo- _ oh! _ ” His eyes opened wide and he gaped at Lance.

"Oh? Oh bad or oh good?" Lance asked, ready to rip the thing off him if it was hurting him. 

“...Look,” Keith said in wonder. “I mean, you can’t - but - here.” He grabbed Lance’s palm and placed it against his chest, where a very distinct, rhythmic thrum was beating under the skin. “Holy shit, do you feel that?”

Lance bit his lip, trying to feel something. Keith's chest moved, and again. A steady beat of a real heart. "Wait. Are you alive?" 

“No...no, I don’t feel different.” Keith looked down, phasing his hand in and out of existence. “Hunk just said to wear it tonight. To trust him. And then he winked.” 

"What does it feel like?" Lance rested his head on Keith's chest to listen. It might be the only time he'd get to hear Keith's heart. He closed his eyes as the beat of Keith's heart sped up. 

“Good. Strange.” He smiled. “Feels like it means more when I tell you I love you.”

"I love you." Lance kissed Keith's chest, right over his heart. "I love when you're scared and disappear. I love when you warm me when I'm not feeling good." Lance worked his way up Keith's chest and neck, laying kisses here and there as he spoke, "I love how you make fun of me." He reached Keith's lips. "I love all of you." He kissed him. 

It was sweet, and all well and good, but Keith had plans. The addition of a heartbeat only served to remind him of how urgent those plans were. 

Keith reached down to grip Lance through his pants, massaging him as he sat forward to bite along his neck and shoulder. 

Lance moaned as he pushed forward into Keith's hand and grabbed a fistful of hair. Tugging Keith away from his neck, he licked a wet trail around his ear. "Woah, careful. I'm really sensitive there." He brought Keith's head back to his neck. "Gently." 

The word ‘gently’ made Keith growl, but he relented and satisfied himself with using his lips and tongue instead to trace the shadows along Lance’s neck and under his jaw. Pulling his hand away from rubbing at the tightness in Lance’s pants, he began fumbling with the buttons of his blue vest. Between Lance’s talented hands on him and the hot, wet heat of his tongue toying around Keith’s ear, his fingers somehow forgot their primary function and he let out an annoyed whine. 

Leaning back, Lance took pity on his boyfriend and helped remove his vest. Placing one finger under the neck of his bow tie, he pulled on the end with his other hand, whipping it off in one smooth motion. It joined the growing pile on the floor. "You're overdressed for the occasion." Lance moved on to undressing Keith, using his mouth along with his hands. He ran a finger over the black collar around Keith's neck. "But we’ll leave this on." 

Keith smirked up at him as he tugged Lance’s belt from its loops, making a show of licking his glossed lips. “And why is that?” 

"So I have something to hold on to while I fuck you senseless." Lance had Keith down to his tight leather pants. The bulge in them was clearly visible and as much as he loved the way it looked he was too eager to see Keith laid out and flushing as he fucked him. Oh, that was a pretty picture. He should share. 

It was nearly a mistake. Keith may have been dead, but he was a dead teenaged virgin, and the long, keening moan that image brought up almost had him coming on the spot. He hit Lance’s shoulder a few times, trying to send back his desperation to back off, let him recooperate, but at the same time his body was  _ screaming  _ to get fucked. Keith was a mess and he knew it, and while his hands scrambled at the fly of Lance’s pants, he silently begged his boyfriend for guidance. 

Lance preened at how turned on Keith was. "Don't worry, babe. I got you." He stilled Keith's hands and made quick work of his own pants. "Look how beautiful you are. Look at how hard you make me." Taking Keith's hand he cupped it against his weeping cock. 

“Ohgod,” Keith choked out, pressing into Lance and running his finger lovingly through the precum gathered there. Without thinking about it, he lifted his finger to his lips and licked, humming in pleasure and looking at Lance as he did. “Never get tired of this. Love the way you taste.” 

"What God did I please to end up with you, because, holy shit." Lance clutched Keith's face in both hands, kissing him deeply and tasting himself on Keith's tongue. 

Once Keith's mouth was fully ravished, he worked his way down Keith's body, drawing a treasure map to the man's cock. "You're doing such a good job. Lift up for me." 

Keith obliged and lifted his hips so Lance could wrestle him free of the second skin of his leather pants. In his own bed, naked, spread out for the man he loved, Keith felt exposed and full and bursting in all the best ways, and it was mirrored in the heaviness of his cock, leaking liquid starlight on his belly. 

Lance peeled the leather off, slow and followed by teeth. Placing Keith's legs over his shoulder he ran one finger over the puckered hole. "How's this? Feel good?" 

It had certainly made Keith jump, that was for sure. He’d never had the bravery to touch himself there, so he wasn’t at all prepared for how vulnerable - and yeah, a little embarrassing - the reality was. He squirmed, but didn’t pull away. “I’m...not sure,” he said honestly. “Yet. Have you done it before? Like, someone else? To you?” He was looking for reassurance or expectations, but wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Logically, of course he knew Lance had been with others before him. That didn’t stop the possessive jealousy that washed over him at the thought. 

"Mm, I have." Lance wanted this so bad, but he also wanted Keith to be in the right headspace. "If you don't like it, we can switch." His finger continued to massage the hole, but stayed respectfully outside it. "Wanna at least try?" 

“Yes,” Keith admitted, trying to push down the sour taste Lance’s admission had left, and focused on the words he’d said before. Lance loved him.  _ Loved  _ him, and Keith was going to make sure he showed Lance how much he was loved in return. He took another moment to center himself and reached down again to find the proof that Lance wanted him, wrapping a hand around his boyfriend’s cock, hard and dripping for him, because of him. “...Yes,” Keith said again, giving a few quick pumps of his fist. “I’m ready.” 

Lance let himself enjoy Keith's administrations for a moment, then backed up until Keith's hand slipped off. Smirking down at Keith, Lance lowered himself as he pushed Keith's knees to his chest. "Good, because you're going to love this." 

Keith's new position lifted his ass just enough to give Lance access. He lowered his head and took a tentative swipe of his tongue across Keith's opening, staying intensely in tune with his boyfriend's every emotion. It was a good thing he was, too; Keith made a surprised, not terribly attractive sound that very rapidly dissolved into moaning, and the burst of feeling along their link wasn’t coherent or verbal. At best, Lance could only translate it as  _ !!!  _

With glee, Lance went to work, pressing his tongue through the ring of muscles.  _ Oh, you're wet,  _ Lance told him mentally. 

Dazed, Keith looked down at the top of Lance’s head, brown hair peeking up from behind his own cock.  _ What do you mean _ ? He forgot he could even speak. 

Lance lapped at the tingling fluid that was slick and thick. The lube he brought was going to be lonely tonight.  _ Your ass; it has its own lube.  _ He dug in deeper, flicking his tongue against the soft insides of Keith. "Mmm," Lance moaned.  _ You taste amazing.  _ And he did. It was sharp like a lemon but smooth and musky. So perfectly Keith. 

_ I’m sorry, what _ \- Keith began, but Lance’s tongue was unrelenting, and he accepted the brief brush of  _ ghost stuff, s’fine, figure it out later  _ in favor of losing his goddamn mind. For all that Lance could be a talkative, silver-tongued bastard when he wanted to be, he sure knew how to put it to use. Keith clamped his teeth into his own fist to muffle the ridiculous moans and sobs he was making, clutching the quilt below for dear life lest he just give in to the torture and jerk himself off. 

_ Please, please, please  _ he begged, and he didn’t even really know what he was begging for.  _ Need you, more,  _ ** _fuck_ ** _ , Lance- deeper -  _

There it was, Lance's cue. He pulled out, licking the stretched hole apologetically. Okay, so Keith was dead, sure, he was a ghost, yeah, but there were still unknowns between them. Keith didn't even know he had ass-lube. He should at least ask since he brought them.  _ Do you want me to wear a condom?  _

_ Absolutely not!  _ Keith blushed and averted his eyes.  _ I-I mean...is that okay?  _

Lance kissed the small pucker, the opalescent fluid leaking out disappearing before it hit the sheets. “They didn’t cover ghost sex in school, but I think its fine. If that’s what you want.” He leaned over Keith and clasped their hands together, kissing him and letting him taste himself. With the other hand Lance guided himself to Keith's prepped hole and pushed so that he was only putting enough pressure for Keith to know what was about to happen. 

Taking a deep, steadying, fake breath, Keith looked up at Lance with every ounce of adoration he had and smiled, reaching up to brush back the hair that had started to flop out from Lance’s careful gelling. 

“I trust you,” he said. “Make me yours, Lance.” 

Taking it slow, Lance pushed in a little at time, pressing the head past the first ring of muscle. He paused, watching Keith’s expression. 

To Keith’s surprise, it didn’t actually hurt. It felt like pressure, but there was no pain. He wondered why, what it was about his bizarre and inexplicable ghost anatomy. It was sort of like trying the ice cream again - sensation, but not the same as it would have been in reality. Maybe that was a good thing in this case. Experimentally, he shoved his hips down a little, taking another inch of Lance in and  _ groaning  _ at the sensation. 

“You’re so eager. You want my dick that badly? Hm?” Lance put a hand on Keith’s hip to still him. “Say it. I want to hear how much you need it.” With each word he made tiny thrusts to tease Keith’s entrance. 

Eager to please and with nothing to lose, Keith fought the hand holding him and tried to roll his hips, squirm, do something to get more of Lance inside him. Now that he was past the point of being nervous, all he wanted was for Lance to get on with it and finally take him completely. “Want you, want you to split me open, want you so deep I feel you in my belly, want to take every inch of your cock and milk you dry, please, Lance, fuck me, you feel so  _ good _ .” He kept talking, but it just dissolved into nonsense. Whatever would make Lance have mercy on him. 

“Such dirty words for a virgin.” Lance pushed until he was fully inside Keith and held still, watching Keith squirm on his cock. Creating the loop between them, he let Keith look at himself. “Dirty looks good on you.” 

“Been waiting…” Keith panted. “A long time...to say it to...the boy I love. Like 25 years of practice.” 

That lit a fire inside Lance he didn’t know existed. He wanted to give this boy the world. He wanted to blow his mind. Lance picked up a steady pace, trying not to over stimulate himself. He was already edging and he had to make this last. Normally, Lance could last quite a while, but feeling everything twice was not easy, then add to that Keith’s words. To keep his mind off of how delicious Keith felt wrapped around him, he sucked his way up Keith’s neck. 

Keith pulled him close, digging his nails into the skin of Lance’s back as Lance rocked them, so sweet and gentle despite the edge of his words. Lance had opened their connection, but Keith wasn’t going to stay passive. With every thrust up, he sent the feeling of fullness, of being stuffed and stimulated, right back to Lance, along with the awe of feeling complete. He sent another thought too: Keith may not have been Lance’s first, but he was sure going to be his only from now on. 

Lance giggled through their connection,  _ I already told you I was ruined for anyone else. You’re my one. _ He picked up the pace, grabbing Keith’s collar to pull himself with each thrust.  _ My only.  _ He bit down on Keith’s shoulder then soothed it with small licks.  _ My world. I only see you, forever.  _

_ Forever,  _ Keith echoed.  _ Love you - loveyouloveyoulove- _ “ _ AH! _ ” The sound tore out of him when Lance hit something that made him see stars. He dug his nails in harder and locked his ankles against Lance’s back. “AHhh oh my god, right there,  _ right there _ -don’t you dare fucking move-” 

Circling his hips up, Lance ignored Keith’s command. Instead he hit that spot over and over and over. He could feel it every time he hit it, echoed through Keith and shivering down his own spine. It was way easier to hit it when he could feel it in his own body, but now he was definitely sure he wasn’t going to last. Almost strangling Keith with his collar, Lance moaned. One hand abandoned the collar to fist Keith’s hair. The two handholds pulled Keith towards him as he fucked, burying himself even deeper, always towards the g-spot. 

The pace was fucking relentless, and Keith knew he was a mess of collar-constricted begging at this point. He’d been trying  _ so hard  _ not to come early and ruin it, but this was beyond what he was capable of handling. 

_ Lance,  _ he mentally whined, blissed-out, wrecked, and damn near tears even telepathically.  _ I’m sorry, I-I can’t - I - don’t want it to - but -  _

“Do it,” Lance commanded. “Come all over me. Let me feel you. You did so good. You’re so good.” He was so close, if Keith came he wouldn’t be far behind. Not once in all his intimacies had he ever been able to come simultaneously with anyone. This time he might be able to. “I wanna come with you.” 

The moment Keith came, spilling helplessly between them and making an absolute mess, the lights in the room flared up. He slammed himself down, taking all of Lance that he possibly could, and clamped down hard to trap Lance exactly where he was. He mourned the loss of not having Lance’s release to fill him up and spill out of him as he came, but it was still perfect. It was all perfect, and he was going to drag Lance with him no matter what. He blew open their link and showed him everything: how good he felt, how much he loved Lance’s perfect cock, how much he loved  _ Lance,  _ how he wanted Lance to fill him to bursting, how he belonged to Lance and Lance to him. 

Lance wasn’t in his own body anymore-- Or he was but he was also in Keith’s. He was Keith. There was no beginning or ending to their souls. Their bodies were gone, melted away and then reborn as one entity. Lance realized he’d always been a hollow, empty shell, until Keith. Until this moment. Until he was sewn together by Keith’s hands and Keith’s mouth and Keith’s love. He came with a cry. He could feel his own heat spill into Keith he could feel the way Keith craved it. Lance took Keith’s lips for his own.  _ I love you, my heartbeat, my soul, my Keith.  _ For just that night, he was answered by the beat of Keith’s own heart. 

The lights dimmed as Keith shook apart. He stayed that way, kissing Lance and trembling, for a long time. There was a tingling sensation on his cheeks which meant he’d leaked some of those firefly tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Lance knew exactly how he felt and there was no hiding it. Eventually, he looked up at the ceiling, rubbing Lance’s back. 

Lance fell into Keith’s arms, almost purring at his touch. 

“Hey,” Keith croaked, voice thin and abused. “Do you remember the first night you stayed here?” 

“Hm? Yeah. “ Lance wiped away Keith’s tears. “Our slumber party.” Letting his hand fall, he tangled his fingers into silky strands. 

Keith smiled, resting his cheek in Lance’s palm. “...Let’s make this the last.” 

“The last what?” They were so close. Lance could see the lights reflected in Keith’s eyes. They didn’t reflect like normal eyes; instead, they scattered like stars. 

“Our last night here. I met you here, and I fell for you here but…” He didn’t need to say the rest; they both knew what he was referencing. “I want to spend the rest of - I mean -“ Keith huffed. “You know what I mean!” 

A grin blossomed on Lance’s face. “Nope. I don’t. You want to spend the rest of your time playing slumber party games?” His heart pounded as if it was trying to get closer to Keith. He obliged it, and pulled Keith closer so they were nose to nose. 

Keith gave him a grumpy pout but nuzzled their noses together. “I want to start a new life with you. Somewhere else. So...a new afterlife? A  _ home _ .” 

Chest fluttering, Lance took Keith's hand in his. "A new life, together." He kissed their linked hands. "A home." He looked up at the galaxies in Keith's eyes. "Will you be my home?" 

The smile Keith gave him was simple, the kiss was sweet, and it was the easiest thing in the world - easier than being or dying or breathing had ever been - to say, “We already are.” 

The music below them faded and the rumbling of the generators kicked off. For the first time Keith slept all night entangled with Lance, without fear of blinking out, and Lance slept curled around Keith, without fear of waking up alone. In the Red House they slept, but it was together that they were home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat you don't know that Mintusti is the best beta ever?????
> 
> Autumn: thoughts for their prom slow dance song? @ us on Twitter for suggestions
> 
> Sail: I just. This is the biggest story i've ever written and it's all thanks to Autumn carrying me through this. I couldn't have done this without her. I literally learned how to write a novel and i'm eternally grateful. I can't say how much the support and love for this fic has made me so happy. i love you all. thanks <3
> 
> Follow us on Twitter! [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


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